


Fathoms & Foundlings

by grumblebee



Category: Hamilton-Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: American Revolution, Explicit in later chapters, Fish out of Water, Lore - Freeform, Lost in Translation, M/M, Masturbation, Rating subject to change, additional appearances of Hamilton and Laurens, all the cold weather tropes your heart desires, bad human/mermaid customs, exploring human crushes, loosely based historical events, mermaid au, mermaid!Lafayette, sea husband, semi-erotic fin job, slight exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 73,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/pseuds/grumblebee
Summary: Lafayette is a curious little merman. He studies humans from afar, watching them sail and work from beyond the docks. But war comes to their coast, and with it a new General. Love struck, and a bit headstrong, Lafayette is determined to win this human's favor, and fight in a war for his people. It's not as easy as it looks, especially when affairs on land are a little more by the book than the sea.





	1. Prologue

Down here there's darkness. Rolling, blue darkness that stretches farther than the eye can see. It seeps a chill into your bones, and fills your ears with a deep thrum that rattles the brain. It's constantly moving, ever changing and everlasting; and it's Home. 

_ ‘ What creature wouldn't want to live here _ ?’ one would think upon opening their eyes to find cold blue darkness below their suspended feet. It's heaven on earth. It's life. Pure and clean. The origin of all. 

That's what the first merfolk heard, upon meeting their beached counterparts. From the waves they spotted man, a clumsy and fragile creature, entering their realm for the very first time. Their likeness was remarkable, with the same fair boned features every merfolk had from the waist up. Yet as man entered the water, stumbling with each passing wave, the merfolk noticed something strange.

Their fins were broken.

Man could not swim. His legs remained unfused, his short feet neglecting to turn into the long and graceful fins that would propel him through the water. It seemed nature had played a cruel joke on man. Each step was a bumbling attempt to conquer the waves, ending in a disgraceful wash out onto the beach. 

Pitying the poor creature, a mermaid washed ashore, her legs unbinding to join the man on land. Their friendship was instantaneous, and man was delighted to meet someone from the sea. The mermaid taught him to swim. Taught him to watch the waves and follow the tides. In return man taught the mermaid of the trees, of tools and shelter. 

But it was too good to last.

Man grew jealous of the merfolk. When he dipped his head beneath the waves he felt envy boiling in his blood. How could the merfolk have it all? Both land and sea, and the prize of longevity. Why should he share his fields and forests when the merfolk might only share their shores with him.

That night Man set out to even the score. He baited the mermaid to shore, promising feast and festivities. As planned, the Mermaid beached herself to join Man on land, regaining her land legs. As she stepped from the surf and onto the sand she let out a cry.  _ Rocks.  _ Thousands and thousands of jagged rocks strewn just below the sand. They embedded into her soles, filling the surf with blood. Man only watched, satisfied now that the Mermaid would have to limp beside him-- a weakling. 

Betrayed, the Mermaid threw herself back into the sea. Upon returning to the water her fins returned, the agonizing pain in her feet disappearing. But the damage had been done. She could no longer walk on land without feeling the phantom pain of a thousand jagged rocks. As did her children, their children after that. 

From then on merfolk were confined to the sea, lest they suffer that terrible curse, and walk amongst the descendants who treated them so cruelly. 

* * *

“Is that all?” A small merchild chimed in, fingers playing with the sand beneath him. “Rocks?” 

The elder perched on the coral scowled, tucking a lock of suspended hair behind his ear. “That depends on what you mean by it,  _ Lafayette.” _ He said, his tone serious. “Would you like to walk upon rocks all day long?” 

Lafayette paused, studying his fins as they absentmindedly fanned in the current. “I suppose I wouldn't know. I've never walked before.” He retorted. “How can I be sure I wouldn't?” 

The elder rose off his seat, scooping Lafayette up into his arms. “Your parents wouldn't have liked this kind of talk.”

“Not true. Mama and Papa liked humans.” 

“A bit  _ too _ much--” the elder merman said. Then, with a great sigh he set Lafayette down on his tail. “Listen, child. We do not forbid humans. They are part of our world. But be warned; they are jealous, petty creatures. They steal from one another. They enslave their own kind. You may befriend one one day, and love them entirely, only to have that love dashed against the rocks. That is why many of us choose to stay out of sight.”

Lafayette pursed his lips. “And what if I would like to meet one?” 

“Then you may. In time.” 

* * *

 

The first human was a child. A small, fat thing that splashed in the waves by the coast. Lafayette had spotted him from afar, smoke rising from a fire made on the beach. Whoever this child was, he came from great fortune. Atop the slope of the beach was a carriage, fine and adorned with crests that Lafayette could not identify. His family remained in the shade of a grand canopy, eating off of large platters placed before them. 

The child fumbled in the surf, only half watched after by his caretakers. Lafayette edged closer to him, eager to see a real life human up close. It was a child, true, but one day it would grow into a thing of beauty. A creature that held fire. For the life of him, Lafayette couldn't fathom how they did it. Perhaps they combust? He readied his tail to be sure. One good splash would put this child out. 

“Oh!” 

With and undignified cry, the child tripped over a slick rock, falling face first into the waves. Lafayette threw a glance towards his caretakers, all of whom were unaware that their child had taken a spill. How very careless. More concerning was the fact that this plump little thing had trouble regaining his legs. The rocks of the shore were slippery, and the waves a bit too strong for the child to weather. The first sputtering cough brought fear to Lafayette.  _ This child is hurt. _

Slipping nimbly beneath the waves Lafayette saw the problem. A clump of seaweed had tangled around the poor child’s leg, anchoring him to a rock. The waves dragged him back and forth as if on a tether, with the child bobbing and sputtering for air. He had seen it before in seals and other air breathing creatures. A little more of this torture and the child would drown.  _ We can't have that now, can we? _

Lafayette's webbed fingers hooked the seaweed, tearing it clean from the child’s leg. With a little push of his tail, the human was back on his two tiny feet, breathing heavily above the surf. Lafayette could hear it even above the thrum of waves in his ears. When the child didn't cry, or attract attention from his caretakers, Lafayette peeked above the waterline. The child’s eyes widened with surprise. 

“You’re!”

Lafayette put a finger to his lips, shushing the child. “You must be careful on the rocks.” He whispered. “For I might not be here next time.” 

The child blushed, tears pricking at his eyes. Lafayette felt a pang of pity for scolding the poor thing. He tapped the child’s round stomach with his fins consolingly. 

“What is your name?” He asked, eager to know the little human. The child wiped tears from his eyes. 

“Louis.” 

Louis. How quaint. Lafayette crept closer to the boy. “You are a brave child, Louis. Are you not afraid of the ocean?” He asked, careful not to show the child his rows and rows of snaggled teeth. Louis shook his head, trying to put on a brave face. Lafayette was about to prod further, ask if Louis feared him--the grown merman lurking just out of view--when the child had a thought.

“Wait right here!” He exclaimed, rushing back towards the beach. Lafayette panicked, unsure of whether Louis was about to alert his caretakers of his presence. He ducked behind a rock, listening carefully. No screaming. No commotion. A few minutes later the returning slap of tiny feet in the water greeted him. 

“Sir?” Lafayette peeked from around the rock. Louis had returned, red cheeked and huffing. In his small tiny hand was...something. It was crusty, with fluffy white filling. It smelled sweet, and Lafayette looked at his cautiously. 

“You eat it. It's a thank you.” Louis said, holding the thing out again. 

“This is called a  _ thank you _ ?” Lafayette asked. Louis laughed, but still offered the food. 

“No, it's a pastry. I'm giving it to you to  _ say _ thank you.” He clarified. Lafayette’s heart skipped a beat, joy bubbling under his skin. Help a human, get rewarded. That wasn't so bad. He took the pastry, the crust slightly soggy, and took a bite. Sweet, incredibly so. The filling coated his tongue, mixing with the bittersweet taste of berries and powdered sugar. It was  _ good. _ He devoured it quickly, a little sad that the thing was gone so soon.

Louis watched curiously. “I can bring you more” he said. Lafayette smiled. 

“Please do” 

* * *

As time passed, Lafayette’s friendship with Louis grew. When the waters grew warm, and the winds changed, Lafayette would emerge from the depths, drifting with the current until he happened across Louis’ beach. He’d comb the sands, picking up pink shells at high tide and placing them in a small ring on the beach. Then he would wait, and within a few days the boy would arrive.

With each passing year their routine became like clockwork, Louis sometimes beating him to the beach before Lafayette set up his ring. Humans had, if anything, an impeccable grasp on time. They also grew quite fast. A new summer meant a changed Louis, his chubby youth melting away before Lafayette’s eyes. His stout legs sprouted, turning knobby kneed and lean. His face became more defined, and he held himself taller. It was remarkable! 

“Lafayette, there’s something I must tell you.” Louis said, perched on a rock, his feet dangling in the water. Lafayette hummed curiously, busy with the bundle of treats Louis had smuggled into the water. “My grandfather has arranged for me to be married. I am to meet her this year.” He held a small locket in his palm, a likeness of a woman drawn inside. She was pale, fair boned, with soft eyes. The picture of innocence. 

“I wish you much happiness, Louis.” he said, licking the custard from his webbed fingers. “Your new bride will have a fine husband.” Louis blushed, kicking at the water lazily. 

“I must ask, despite the fear of looking foolish, but...can you walk, Lafayette?” Louis asked. It rang hopeful and true, and Lafayette did not hesitate to respond.

“All mermaids can walk. We have never lost our land legs.” 

Louis’ eyes lit up curiously. “Then, may I ask another question? From one friend to another?” he asked. Lafayette rested his head in his palms.  _ Friend _ . A human had called him friend. 

“Anything.”

“Next year, will you come see my home? In Versailles?”  _ Versailles.  _ A human dwelling. He had heard much about this place. The dazzling crystals, the gardens, beds softer than sand banks. And he had been invited. Lafayette’s heart leapt with joy, and he seized Louis’ hands gleefully.

“I accept! I shall see your Versailles!”

And so the plan was made. Come next year Lafayette would leave the sea and visit the realm of man. He bid Louis goodbye, watching his carriage slip above the ridge and out into the rolling green yonder. Land. He’d walk on land. Mingle with the elite, dance on two feet. Eat sweet cakes and drink bubbling wine. But for that he'd have to walk. Shed his fins and crawl onto land, facing the curse of his kind. The jagged rocks. Man’s wrath. But Louis called him  _ friend,  _ no?

That night after the sun set, and the tide pulled back to sea, Lafayette remained perched along the rocks. The shore beckoned to him, pebbly sand tinkling in the surf, the waves frothing and retreating into the sea. He could walk. He could do it. 

Squashing down his fear, Lafayette slipped back into the surf, rolling with the waves as they gently pushed him ashore. His hands dug into the sand, dragging long rake marks and he beached himself. His tail sagged uncomfortably, the near weightlessness of water abandoning him. Lafayette grunted, dragging himself further onto dry land until...it happened. His legs fell apart. He had legs. Real,  _ true  _ land legs.

Lafayette turned onto his backside, examining his new form. It was strange. His legs were slender and awkward, knees knobby and bony. He had toes, ten of them. They wiggled excitedly in the sand, burying deep. His skin felt cold, prickling up in the night air. With the surf lapping at his heels, Lafayette felt a slight tingle in his feet. All there was left was to stand. Stand and face the world like a human, with two feet planted on the ground.

Lafayette stood, and screamed.

The pain was blinding, white lights exploding behind his eyes. It was as if he had stepped upon a bed of broken shells, the shards embedding themselves deep into his soles. They fused to the bone, mercilessly tearing his flesh as the weight of himself pushed further and further into the sand. Panicked, Lafayette's eyes searched the dark sand. Blood, how could there be no blood? How could he be impaled upon his own two feet and not bleed out into the surf?

Losing his balance, Lafayette fell backwards into the water, his fins returning. His fins throbbed with phantom pain, and he tearfully rubbed them. Horrendous pain. Unbearable. A sob ripped through him. How will he dance now? Be a part of his friend’s world? 

Lafayette sniffled, bruised but determined. He wanted to  _ dance _ . He was  _ personally _ invited to. And after all those years Louis visited his home, it was time to return the favor. He had a year. 

Lafayette climbed out of the surf.

* * *

A year passed, and the fated date had arrived. Lafayette had practiced well, turning seconds into minutes, and minutes into hours on his bloody stumps. He could walk across the sand, twirl and stand. The pain, though excruciating, had become an afterthought. A sharp stabbing pain that Lafayette tread upon with pride. He had his  _ legs. _ He walked farther and longer than any mermaid before him. And he  _ would _ dance. 

Louis had given him a lay of the land, explaining once that his home was far from shore. Had he lived closer to the sea, he would visit Lafayette more often. For Lafayette to join him, he must swim upriver. And so he did, finding the mouth of a river that ran through Louis’ country like a vein, taking him to the heart of France. He followed it for miles, passing underneath boats and docks, and past murky putrid waters. When the muck cleared, and the river ran clean,  he was close. Only a carriage ride away. 

A carriage pulled up to his river in the late afternoon, white gloved men assembling a large tent just beyond the reeds. Lafayette peered at them curiously from the banks, watching as they bustled to and fro from within the tent. They worked through high tide, waiting until the sun had begun to set to coax Lafayette from the water. 

He emerged, standing proud on his own two legs as he was guided towards the tent. Inside was warm, braziers lit to keep the heat in. Candles flickered in their stands, filling Lafayette with a creeping unease as he padded his wet feet onto the throw carpet. 

There were a few men, dressed in servant's uniforms, ready to dry him from the lake. Lafayette walked into their toweled embrace, not missing the way the maids giggled behind their hands at the sight of him. Still, Lafayette was eager. He wanted to see this new land, and that was worth a few stares.

They swabbed him with fresh water that smelled of flowers, and began the meticulous wrapping of his body. Stockings. Undershirts. Waistcoat. Jacket. Cravat. Layers and layers of things that confined him. It was hot and stuffy, and Lafayette felt as though he’d never feel the wind on his skin again. 

The maids combed back his hair, placing that too underneath a white powdered wig--pure as snow. He watched in the mirror as they applied rouge and powder to his face, coating him. More spritzes from a bottle, and thick flowery clouds around him.

“To wash out the brine” one man said. Lafayette felt a bitter sting to his words. 

The worst was the shoes. Horribly pinchy things that were clamped over his stocking clad feet like a vice. Panic brewed in Lafayette’s belly. He had not prepared for shoes. The clothes were restricting enough, but his feet--though trained, were soft and tender. As the man tightened his shiny black shoes, Lafayette held back a whimper. 

When it was all done he was helped to his feet, guided towards a carriage on the other side of the tent. Lafayette yearned to sit down, hobbling in rushed steps to the plush carriage seats. The silk of his light blue suit swished loudly, but not in the soothing way water would. It was rigid and frantic. Lafayette felt himself sweat beneath the suit, unable to do more than press his forehead up against the cool glass of the carriage as the door shut behind him. But all of this was worth it. The excitement in his belly bubbled. He would see Louis soon, and his new bride. Familiar faces and familiar treats.

Land was marvelous. Rolling hills passed by like green waves, churning and dipping out of view as his carriage sped down the road. The sun had set, and the twinkle of stars returned to the sky. Lafayette smiled gently, unsure for the first time if the inky peaks outside his window were land or sea. 

Versailles was just as opulent. On tender feet Lafayette walked through its doors, greeted by music and the sound of tinkling conversation. Candles flowed from every corner, catching the crystal of the chandeliers, scattering light amongst the glittering guests. They too wore wigs, powdered and wrapped in layers. They glided perfect across marble that shone like a still lake. Servants passed to and fro, carrying sweet treats and fine wine; both of which Lafayette accepted in generous helpings. It was only once a year he had the privilege of eating human food, and he planned to have his fill.

Alone and unattended, Lafayette wandered around the party, trading one empty glass for another, powdered sugar on his fingers. He waited for his host to notice him, playing absentmindedly with the rings that had been placed on his unwebbed fingers. 

Human food was strange. It tasted sweet, whetting his appetite for more, yet the more he indulged the warmer he became. Each new glass of wine was cool on his tongue, but returned with heat tenfold to his cheeks, and his steps became looser. Lafayette was unsure whether that made it better or worse.His shoes wreaked havoc on his feet, the pain becoming more and more unbearable the longer he waited for Louis company. 

The guests were not at all interested in mingling with Lafayette. They skirted around him, speaking in hushed whispers behind their fans. One man snickered, leaning close to his lady companion as he hissed “The Dauphin’s had fresher catches than this trout”. Hushed laughter, hidden behind hands and fans. Lafayette finished another glass. 

The crowd parted, music soft and lyrical as a familiar face emerged. Louis, a friend at last. He glided effortlessly, shoes clacking against the marble. On his arm was a fair young woman. His Marie Antoinette. Lafayette recognized her from the portrait. Her face was still, set in a sweet cherub smile that could have graced a porcelain doll. She and Louis bid greetings to their guests, short words that brought delight to those who heard. They bowed before them, knees sinking and rising in a wave of allegiance to Louis. 

Approaching Lafayette, he followed suit, sinking briefly out of respect to his friend in his realm. Louis’ face was tired, the smile he wore not as jovial as the ones Lafayette had seen on the beach. “Monsieur Lafayette. How glad I am that you could make it.” He said. Lafayette nodded, offering his thanks. Marie eyed him curiously, something dark and playful glinting behind her eyes. She too bid him a short greeting. And just like that it was over. His friend passed by, swallowed by the crowd as the music swelled and the guests began to dance.

Bitterly disappointed, Lafayette resigned to a corner, watching as the other humans danced. They circled each other carefully, their feet gingerly stepping around as if on thin ice. Contact was brief, an alluring game of cat and mouse where the slightest of touches was met with giggles and flirtatious glances. It brightened his mood, if only marginally. Humans danced beautifully, but they needed a partner to do so; not like his frolicking in the surf. And the crowd here was frigid and strained, with no one willing to come within three feet of him, leaving him in a lonely bubble in the corner, his feet aching and swaying beneath him. 

“Monsieur Lafayette?” 

Lafayette looked up, met with the sweet face of Louis’ bride. Young Marie, smiling graciously, that playful glint in her eyes. She held a hand out, an offer. “Shall we dance?” 

A flush crept over his face. He had not expected to dance this evening after his cold welcome. But he  _ had _ come to dance, and Louis’ bride was more than a fine fit. He had watched enough to attempt one dance. He took her hand, and wobbled out onto the dance floor.

He realized his mistake almost instantly. It seemed customary that if Marie were to dance, the court would watch. Hundreds of eyes trained on her, and him, as the sound of strings filled the air. She began her dance, stepping out of Lafayette’s embrace. He stumbled forward, catching himself clumsily, but still on two feet. He mimicked her steps, just as the other men had, though where their feet stepped lightly across the marble, Lafayette’s came down flat footed and hard. It sounded more like a thunderous march than a dance, and Lafayette became more flustered as his feet made more noise. He begged that his partner would take pity on him. 

Marie stepped faster, the lyrical sound of violins picking up speed. Lafayette struggled to adjust to the new tempo, foot twisting in such a way that the shoe dug into his ankle. White hot pain seared up Lafayette's leg, turning his knees to jelly. With an unseemly cry, he tumbled to the floor, almost taking Marie down with him. She, in all her grace, stepped aside in time for him to collide to a full top on the marble floor, the music halting abruptly. 

Silence. A dreadful moment of it before Lafayette heard it. _Laughter_. First from Marie, who found his state particularly amusing. Then from her court, flittering laughter rippling across the crowd until it thundered. 

“My husband assured me mermaids were graceful and ethereal, yet it seems a fish out of water will always flounder and choke.” Marie quipped, announcing it to her court as she smoothed her barely ruffled skirts. 

Lafayette hurried to his feet, beet red and humiliated. “I apologize, Dauphine.” He stuttered, eliciting more laughter from the crowd. And where was Louis? God only knows. Lafayette hardly took the time to look for him as he fled the dance floor, heading for the door. His carriage wasn't far, and he stumbled in clumsily, fully aware of the crowd that had followed him out to watch him flee. 

He slammed the carriage door shut and barked at the driver to return him to the river, tears streaming down his face as the glittering lights of Versailles disappeared into the inky night. He spared no time shucking off his shoes, hurling them across the carriage cabin in a fit of humiliation. The wig was stomped on, his tender feet shooting with pain with each hard driving step. He tore at the cravat and silks, wishing his claws were here to aid him. 

Lafayette did not spare a glance back at land once the river was in sight. He dove in quickly, his breeches shredding and floating downstream as his tail returned. He tore the rest of his clothes, tossing them in a great wet wad onto the banks of the river. 

Distraught, Lafayette swam through the night, fueled by the desire for soothing salt in his gills. The cold dark depths of the ocean. Deep thrumming currents and chasms that gouged the Earth. He yearned for it. The rolling blue yonder, far from prying eyes and flitting laughter. 

_ Friend. Ha.  _ Lafayette felt bile rise in his throat. A small child he should have let the ocean have. A heart he could save from ache. A dream spared from being dashed across the rocks. 

Lafayette sank deep into the sea, choking sobs into his cold webbed hands. Never again. Never again. He could never again face the ridicule of stepping out on dry land. And how bitter that was;

because despite the mockery...land was beautiful. What a shame that mankind was not kind enough to welcome him to their shores. 

What a terrible...awful shame. 


	2. The Colonies

Humans were resilient. They smattered the coast like weeds, casting boats out like spores on the wind. They spread. They took root. And despite  his heartache, Lafayette had followed one spore as it drifted across the Atlantic, eager to find friendlier shores. 

What he found was breathtaking.  _ The Colonies,  _ they called it. A long string of ports along the coast of a great landmass across the sea. Each port was a hotbed of human activity, bustling and moving in ways the little French beach couldn't compare. Ships creaked noisily in the tide, thick ropes swaying in the current while the men above hauled large barrels and crates above the waves. Lafayette would wind his way between the ships, combing the sand for trinkets knocked overboard. Snippets of rope, spectacles, glass bottles, he studied them all with a careful eye as the men shouted above the waves overhead. 

Every so often something new would crash into his realm, slipped from the  tired hands of sailors. It would rain down in a thunderous cloud of bubbles, drawing Lafayette’s curiosity. Once, as he lay hunched over in contemplation of a shattered bottle, a barrel toppled through the waves. The barrel fizzed, sweet water gushing from its seams. Lafayette tasted it on his lips, fingers working to undo the lid of the barrel, only to find it empty.  _ How strange.  _

The Colonies had much more to offer than just cluttered ports. Between the settlements, hidden amongst marshes and cliffs, were rivers. Fresh, sparkling rivers that wound deep into the heart of the continent. Lafayette loved these the most. Once the silt cleared, and the muck and grime of settlement runoff had dissipated, there was peace. A quiet, undisturbed world away from the eyes of humans. Miles and miles of water, delicately weaving through forest and field. Waterfalls to tumble through, and deep lakes to rest in. It was  _ heaven _ . 

Lafayette spent weeks drifted through these waters, belly up towards the sun as he absorbed the wilderness just beyond the riverbank. Trees, _real tall_ _trees,_ filling the air with a sharp woodsy aroma. Wild honeysuckle creeping over rocks, their vines dribbling into the water where Lafayette sucked at the nectar, sweeter than any pastry he had been given. 

And the  _ animals. _ Lafayette sat very still on the riverbed, watching the tongue of a great horned beast lap at the surface. He marveled at its antlers, soft as crushed velvet, and the soulful way it peered down into the water, locking eyes with him below. Awestruck, Lafayette let out a gasp, a rush of bubbles escaping his mouth. The beast flinched, and bolted-- spooked. Lafayette surfaced to glimpse the grand beast as it made its escape, white tail disappearing into the underbrush. 

There was something sobering about being so far from the sea, surrounded by dense wilderness. For the first time in his life, Lafayette felt small. That even if he were to limp painfully away from the river, that he'd barely dip his toe into all that could be seen. And how could he begin to compare, when even the tallest waves could not rival the peak of a mountain? 

Lafayette pondered these thoughts as he floated lazily through the continent, blossoms in his hair and river rocks on his fingers. It sat on his mind even as the warm summer sun waned, and the trees around him began to turn red and gold. Lafayette traded his petals for leaves, threading them into a wet, soggy crown that he lay across his brow. He loved how it swayed beneath the water, mimicking the rush of wind through the trees as it picked up the current. He spent more and more time beneath the surface, watching the trees shed their treasures and blanket him in gold, staving off the chill that began to hang in the air. 

It was a chilly day like this that Lafayette stumbled across a little more than he expected. He had floated far north, upriver and into a large lake, when he heard the telltale creak of wood.  _ Ships.  _ Poking his head above the water Lafayette could see a small fleet of ships anchored in the distance. They were small, only 50 feet or so in length, and hastily made. As Lafayette drew near he could hear the wood groan under the strain of its own weight. They bobbed in a strait that sat between the mainland and an island, men poised at the ready.  _ Ready? Ready for what?  _

Another fleet of ships, making its way down from the North, it seemed. The wind was caught in its sails, dragging the boats through the strait at an astonishing speed. Lafayette drew close, hoping to catch a few words of the shouting between sailors aboard the southbound fleet. 

“...turn around!” 

“We can't fight the wind, Sir!”

And then came a crack; a loud, terrifying boom that shook the air like thunder, causing the side of the ship to explode into a hail of splinters. The men aboard cried out, scrambling on the deck. “Return fire!” One shouted, the bright red of his jacket flashing in the autumn sun. Men lined the side of the ship, taking aim at the boats anchored across the strait. The air split again, cracked by the sound of their weapons, fire sparking from the metal barrels. 

From his place in the lake Lafayette froze, having never once seen man at arms. They fired at will, the sound of shots echoing back across the strait, assaulted on all sides. Lafayette was shaken from his shock as something whizzed by his head, grazing the skin of his shoulder. A wisp of red bloomed from the skin, and it ached. 

“Reload your guns! Turn this ship around!” A red coat yelled, sending men scattered across the deck to their stations. Lafayette sped away from their ship, its hull damaged by the projectile hurtled from the opposite fleet. As he raced for the end of the strait, the water rippled with shots, metal raining down from the surface in careless waves. He must go deeper, stay away from the surface where these men longed to kill each other. 

Lafayette dove down, sinking deeper and deeper into the lake until he reached bottom. There he found a small rock formation, one equipped with a hidey hole large enough to squeeze in. He wriggled in fins first, panicked as the sound of fighting continued far above. His shoulder stung painfully, worsening as he grazed it against the rough stone walls of his sanctuary. Lafayette stifled a cry, touching at the tender skin of his wound. It was split open, the skin taken off by whatever whizzed past him. With two fingers he pressed at the area. Nothing lodged inside. He had had a near miss with man’s bloodlust--and he wasn't even the intended target.

Which brought another question to mind:  _ Why _ ?

The battle raged on, with Lafayette curled in the rocks below, keen ears trained on the sound of gunfire. Bits of metal and refuse floated to the lake floor, littering the area around his stone shelter. It went on for  _ hours.  _

The sun had gone down by the time the firing stopped. Lafayette remained hidden, ears still picking up on the creak of wood in the water. When the creaking continued its steady rock, and Lafayette was certain the men had run out of ammunition, he emerged from his sanctuary to investigate. 

The surface of the lake was a graveyard, still but for the steady slapping of flotsam and jetsam. Lafayette tread lightly, moving wreckage out of his way with cautious hands. He didn't dare splash, lest he be mistaken for a man overboard. Another target to take aim at. He was drifting what should have been the hull of a boat, it’s portside splintered horrendously, when he saw a familiar shape.  _ Man.  _ A man slumped over the debris, face hidden in his arms. Gently, Lafayette swam to him. He paused, unsure whether to speak, but fearing that someone might hear, he reached out to touch the man. He was heavy and cold, and with a quiet grace slipped from the wreck, bobbing with his face in the water.  _ Dead.  _

And so many more. They bobbed like corks along with the wreck. Many donned blue coats, stained near to the point of black with blood. Lafayette could taste it as he slipped through the water. One body, then another, until Lafayette was certain that no one had survived this horrid blood bath. Every face was haunting; pale and grey, and oh so visible to his keen night eyes. It was no less than a blessing when a heavy fog began to roll onto the lake, swallowing the corpses into a thick blanket of white, and into the unknown. 

But man wasn't done.  _ Not yet.  _ When the fog had settled in, so thick that a man might not see more than fifty feet ahead of him, Lafayette heard it. Oars. Muffled to human ears, but deafening to him. They split the water carefully, leaving only the faintest splash in their wake. It was slow, and tediously painful, but something. 

Curious, Lafayette swam to investigate. A handful of ships, manned by oars, making their way through the dense fog. The sound of their hulls were unmistakable. The docked fleet. They creaked ominously in the night, the already poorly made crafts heavily damaged by gunfire. Slipping beneath the surface, Lafayette edged closer to get a good look at this sneaky little band of humans. 

The first ship was a schooner, guns lining its rail. Through the shimmer of waves Lafayette could make out a name:  _ Royal Savage.  _ He surfaced beside the schooner, taking cover under a large piece of wreckage. Despite their efforts to remain silent, hushed voices raised above the swish of oars. 

“General Arnold, the damage is too great. Several vessels will likely sink before we make it to Crown Point.” One soldier whispered. There was a pause before the man, Arnold, responded.

“Keep the fleet tight. Abandon any vessel that looks like she won't make it.” 

“Yes, sir.”

Lafayette followed Arnold, and the  _ Royal Savage _ , as they made their way down the lake. The men worked quickly, loading any valuable cargo from damaged vessels onto their healthiest. It had to be done quickly, and silently, as the offending fleet was anchored just through the fog. They worked in this fashion for hours, wasting not a minute of darkness until the sun rose over the horizon once again, burning away the thick coat of cover they needed to make it to their destination. 

Then came a harsh, bubbling sound. Something akin to a rush of air following the snap of wood, sucking water with it. Lafayette whipped his head around, watching as a small ship named  _ Spitfire _ pitched in the water.  _ A wreck.  _

Across the water came a cry, a sound alarm that the enemy fleet had slipped past their lines. All at once the men scrambled, both sides readying for pursuit. Lafayette ducked below the waves, picking up speed to keep up with the fleeing fleet. They headed for shore, to a large fort that overlooked the water at a narrows. Land! Where thy might slip away into their own great beyond and be free. 

The rival navy pursued, their ships of finer craftsmanship, ready to withstand return fire and overtake the blue coated army. Lafayette made sure to swim ahead of both navies to avoid crossfire. He missed the first battle, he would  _ not  _ miss the second. 

Men, it seemed, lived up to their legacy. Jealous. Fiendish.Vengeful. Lafayette watched from under the dock as the blue coated army thundered ashore, scrambling up the hill to the fort. The man, Arnold, waving his hands dramatically. He yelled something at a soldier, pointing at the pitiful handful of ships that had made it to the docks. 

And then Lafayette watched it all go up in flames.

The ships were set alight, yellow flames licking at the mast, turning the sails to ash on the wind. One ship, then another, and another, until the bank of the river was a hellscape of scorched crackling wood. It fractured and tumbled into the lake, fizzing into a thick heavy curtain of steam. Lafayette shrieked, unable to rein in his terror as the fleet came crumbling around him. 

In his terror, one hand fell victim to the flames that had licked up a post of the dock, scorching his skin.  _ “Dive!”  _ His mind screamed as he clutched his tender hand to his chest. Down he went, sinking as far as he could to escape the burning wreckage. Blackened debris drifted down around him, soggy and useless. He was directly under it. He couldn't stay here, not unless he wanted to be pinned by the burned out hull of a schooner. 

Forced to surface, Lafayette parted the debris and poked his head above the water to assess the situation. Lakeside, the navy approached, though lacking the zeal they had just moments ago. Shoreside, the ships burned, and as Lafayette strained his eyes against the smoke he saw one more casualty; the fort. 

Arnold had torched it, and as its flames reached towards the sky, sending a thick plume of black towards the clouds, Lafayette felt something spark in his belly. It churned his insides, prickling under his skin until he trembled in the light of the fire. Fear. Panic. But ultimately... _ curiosity.  _ War had come to The Colonies, and Lafayette wanted to know why. 

* * *

The journey downstream was not nearly as leisurely as Lafayette first planned. With newfound curiosity for human warfare, Lafayette began his meticulous combing of settlements to gather information. Each new village was an opportunity to eavesdrop, and Lafayette became a well adept little sleuth as he pieced together a story of war. 

They spoke of a King, one safe across the sea. He sent his scarlet swathed men by the shipful in order to continue his stranglehold on The Colonies. They were  _ his,  _ some colonists claimed. And yet, as Lafayette hid beneath the docks he heard whispers.  _ Liberty _ they said, their voices cast towards the water, backs to their red coated surveyors. They strove for  _ liberty.  _

As Lafayette made his way to the coast, the damage of war became more apparent. Traveling down a mighty river to the sea, Lafayette spied the smoking ruins of a great port city. Remarkably, it still swarmed with life; plain clothes and red coated humans darting to and fro across the docks. 

“General Washington couldn't hold York City.” One man said snidely, resting his rifle on his shoulder. His soldier friend laughed, taking a swill of something before casting the bottle into the sea.

“It's not like anyone’d be calling him  _ General _ if he wasn't so stubborn about it. Never put trust in a man who picks his own titles.”

‘ _ Ah’  _ Lafayette thought ‘ _ but you put trust in a King’ _

Stories of General Washington trailed down the coast like breadcrumbs, never leading far enough to catch sight of him, but close enough to see the damage left in his wake. Those loyal to their king spat his name out like poison, mockingly gargling the briny sea as if to rinse the foul mention of him from their palate. But some remained, even in the smoldering ashes of their homesteads, lifting his name on high praises. They saw a new world coming. One free of Kings and tyranny. But in the meantime they shouldered the burden of servitude to a man they would never see, and threw their secrets into the sea. 

Secrets Lafayette picked up with careful fingers, and examined closely--when one time a pistol was tossed over the docks and into the water. A colonist eager to lose his munitions before red coat soldiers could take it from him. 

“That was loaded!” His friend hissed, shoving him angrily.

“Aye, and they'd hang you before you fired your first shot. You want to fight, join the Continentals, don't shoot at home.” 

Lafayette eyed the pistol lying in the sand. Sunlight glinted off the barrel as if to coax him to touch it. Swimming down to the sea bed, Lafayette picked up the gun, stroking the handle with gentle touches.  _ Human weaponry.  _ It was solid and heavy. Nothing like the sharp shell spears his kind used. This was forged by some great fire, and summoned heat of its own. The handle was engraved, the image of a flower in bloom etched into the wood. How strange...branding an instrument of death with something so  _ alive.  _

He held it up at arm’s length, mimicking the way he saw men ashore hold their pistols. It dragged with the current, heavy but still affected by the tide. Dare he? Dare he surface and see what it's like to split the air like lightning? 

The burning urge to know overwhelmed him, and Lafayette swam quickly to a sheltered inlet, out of sight of soldiers. Above the water the pistol’s weight was even greater, and Lafayette's hand shook as he raised it. He pointed it towards the open sea, aiming at the thin line of the horizon. He squeezed his eyes shut, and pulled the trigger.

A click. Just...a lame little click. Lafayette let out his breath, a little disappointed. Where was the fire? The cracking boom that set his teeth on edge. He turned the barrel down, smacking it with the broad side of his palm.  _ Thwack thwack thwack.  _ The contents of the barrel shook loose, spitting clumped black sludge into his hand. It smelled bitter, and awful, but washed away quickly with the lapping waves spilling over his palm. When the sludge cleared he was left with a small trinket. A tiny piece of iron, wadded in a torn patch of cloth. A bullet. Lafayette marveled at it, understanding now how the crack of thunder from the pistol left a blooming stain on the shirt of a man hundreds of feet away. This small thing  _ killed _ men. 

Lafayette let the pistol go, watching it sink peacefully into the sand. It wouldn't do him much good. The bullet, however, he kept-- its dull metal finish glinting off the center of his necklace, held in place by salvaged twine. This thing he would keep, and heaven forbid... _ need _ . 

* * *

By the time the leaves were stripped from the trees, and the ground had turned white, Lafayette had found himself deep in another river, trailing the lost scent of a rebel army. Settlements along the banks retired their busy day to a night of festivities, warm candlelight glowing in every window. It kept the heat in, and the cold out...a cold which Lafayette had never experienced before. 

The river had begun to freeze, chunks of ice helplessly pushed around in the strong winds. The day had become increasingly worse, starting as a miserable drizzle that escalated to a whopping snow storm that stung Lafayette's skin as he surfaced the river. Yet he was  _ close.  _ Out here the colonists wore plain clothes, and some donned the same blue coats he saw the young navy wear weeks ago. The blue coated soldiers darted in and out of the woods, heads looking over their shoulders frequently. They did not strut with the same bravado red coated men did.  _ These _ were rebels. 

Crouched in the water, nose barely above the rippling surface, he heard the snapping of twigs in the darkness. A man...no... _ men.  _ A hoard of them, all marching quietly through the night. Their steps were soft, steadily approaching the bank of the on the far side. Straining his eyes against the onslaught of snow, Lafayette could make out the shapes of boat being slipped into the water, the wood creaking lowly. 

It only took a few minutes to reach the boats, and another second to strategically slip behind a floating chunk of ice, where he could better hear the whispered talk of soldiers.

“New flints for each man. We carry only three days worth of  food. Keep together, keep quiet.” 

“Once you're over stay tight. Remember your password.  _ Victory or Death.” _

Lafayette felt his heart pulse race, nerves jittery at the prospect of stumbling across a rebel advancement. They snuck around in the dead of night like sharks, drifting from place to place, sniffing out weakness. And something foul was bleeding just across this river. 

It seemed as if the whole army was prepared to cross, with men climbing stealthily into their boats, huddled close to stave off the cold. They cast poles into the water, the first few launching silently into the night. Lafayette took shelter amongst some dead river reeds as another boat was shoved into the water. Men climbed in, These wearing thick black cloaks over their blue uniforms. They watched the first men leaving with sharp eyes, watching the line of boats for weakness.

“The ice is thick. It will be treacherous.” A portly man said, settling into the boat. He was met with silence as a man emerged from the trees.

“General Washington.” 

Lafayette felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw him...the face to the phantom name that lay in the wake of death and destruction throughout The Colonies.  _ Washington. _

He was tall, his broad stature not hidden by the billowy fabric of his cloak. He walked with confident, heavy footsteps that brought the men around him to attention. Lafayette peered through the reeds at him, face flushing as he laid eyes on his face, studying its stern features with some newfound intensity he'd never felt before. He had  _ found him.  _ An enemy of a King, a warrior among men. 

“Mind the ice, but cross all the same. All the more reason to cross tonight.” He said firmly, climbing into the boat. Lafayette pushed off from the bank, sliding below the surface before the small vessel cast off. 

From beneath the river Lafayette kept his gaze on Washington. It was easy to see why men threw their support behind him. His firm tone and fine features worked to his advantage, and his daring tactics would surely throw even the most skilled army off its axis. Yet there was a softness to him. A gentle undercurrent below the surface of his facade that lured Lafayette in. It was warm, paternal...powerful. Maybe it was the way he relaxed his features as his men rowed in the darkness, his pensive expression marred by lines of worry, eyes trained on the opposite bank. 

The pole of Washington’s small craft struck ice, it’s clattering sound jarring Lafayette from his thoughts. This river was treacherous. The crafts were small, made for locals. Bearing the weight of an army, this small fleet of row boats would face much difficulty navigating the ice field. 

Rushing to this human’s aid, Lafayette smacked the ice with his fin below the surface, breaking loose the push pole. His boat continues its course, though still in line to collide with many more pieces of ice. Working quickly, Lafayette swam ahead of the boat, treading belly up so as to watch the boat as he swatted ice away from the bow with his powerful tail. 

“It seems we have some divine providence.” Washington remarked, watching the ice part before his vessel. “We might make it ashore in one piece after all.”

Lafayette smiled, caught off guard by his pessimistic outlook. He found it oddly charming to see a man with the world at his fingertips and acknowledge he could  _ lose _ it. This man was not a King. Kings believe the world is handed to them, that even if they drop it, and shatter it, that it belongs to them. Kings wait patiently for someone to patch it together and hand it back to their sugar coated fingers. 

Kings do not brave the cold. They do not shiver on the bow of a tiny craft in the middle of the night and pray that they see the other bank of a river. Nor do they brand their cause with  _ Victory or Death.  _

As Lafayette pushed the last piece of ice away from the bow, he felt something bloom in his chest. A fondness he hadn't experienced before. It grew, spreading a tingling heat to his face as he watched Washington step from his boat onto the opposite bank. It burned as Washington looked to the sky, his expression softening to one of sweet relief as he thanked the stars. And in a moment the tenderness was gone, placed aside for some indescribable strength. He was no longer a man, but a force of nature--one that would level Kings until they knelt amongst men. 

Lafayette watched in awe as Washington slipped into the new treeline, whispers of  _ Victory or Death _ rising above the wind. And that was it; the straw that broke him. Lafayette gave in to the thrum of his heart, blood rushing in his ears. There was no doubt in his mind...no use fighting it. His heart was enlisted. He would leave the water.

He would fight. 


	3. Hulls

Washington had not left Lafayette's mind since that night on the banks. Lafayette turned him over his memories, tracing every detail of the man. His strong jaw, smooth voice, warm breath billowing in clouds on that cold winter night. The way he looked to the stars in gratitude for their safe arrival on the opposite bank. It struck Lafayette in a way he had never felt before. It was a warm tingle beneath his skin, rippling in his stomach like stone dropped into a placid lake. Each passing moment the ripples grew bigger and wider, taking up more of his mind...more of his body. He simply _had_ to meet him. Meet Washington in person and join his cause.

But this would not be some simple feat. The man was elusive. It was only by chance that Lafayette had stumbled across his midnight crossing, and he couldn't skim every bank rumored to be plagued by rebels just to chance a sight of him. He needed to leave the water. But he needed to do it right.

In his time skimming the ports, Lafayette learned a few things about men at war:

They were scrappy, hastily throwing together militia from simple townsmen.

They were wasteful, dumping much needed supplies into the river to avoid enemy forcing from obtaining it.

They liked metal. All of it.

Lafayette had studied the special metals humans used day to day. Some sturdy irons twisted into tools and weapons. Some silvers that adorned clothes and the handles of blades. Tins that swung noisily from packs, filled with water. And gold. Precious and pure, and coveted.

The merfolk had no need for metals. In fact, its presence in the water was quite vile. It stung their nostrils, and would taint the fish that had been speared with it. It rusted and barnacled, decaying into their home like a rancid corpse. But men _treasured_ it. On land it was a key piece of their survival. They hunted with it, ate off it, traded it for clothes, and wore it proudly.

Lafayette remembered the glittering gold of Versailles, dripping all the way from the ceiling to the rings on each lady's finger. The way it sparkled along the stems of wine glasses and gilded their seats. It's abundance suggested wealth and stature above all else. The men who handed Lafayette his drinks had no such metal. Nor did the handmaids who dressed him. And here, in the Colonies, men and women only traded it for table scraps.

He needed gold. A great deal of it.

* * *

 

Men had an awful habit of wrecking ships. Their senses were muted, blind to the signs of an unsteady sea until their hull was minutes from being smashed to pieces. They sailed into storms, dashed into rocks, and ran aground on shallow reefs. Big and small, old and new, the vessel always sank, taking with it troves of human treasure. Treasure that had, until now, been of no use to a little merman.

Hunched over the billowing fabric of a torn sail, Lafayette threaded a needle through. He had seen women do it from the river banks, taking a bit of thin thread and weaving it through a gaping hole until the material cinched tight. The current pulled the sail, knocking his hand two and fro as he meticulously stitched the sail. It was messy, nothing like the fine even stitches of the seamstresses he spied on, but it did the trick. Lafayette held up his work for close examination.

A large canvas pouch, able to sling across his body.

He slung it over his shoulder, the empty pouch settling at his hip. Now fully equipped, he could weave in and out of the wrecks, collecting all the precious metals he could find.

The process was easier than he thought. His nose stung at the slightest hint of metal. Each husk of a wreck wafted some stinging current down from the depths. He didn't need to look far after that to find the treasure. Gold and iron were in abundance. Some ships so laden with it that Lafayette had to hold his nose, his senses searing as he stripped the hull of its bounty.

One ship carried guns, though their barrels were rusted and useless. Lafayette studied each one, feeling its weight and imagining the spark of fire that would burst forth from it. He also found canons, recognizing them as the source of thunder that splintered ships. Though down here they were nothing more than ghosts, pale and barnacled in the low light of the sea floor.

He also found death. Men who had not escaped the wreck in time, and had been claimed by the sea. The first man Lafayette saw was pinned beneath a pile of debris, the bones picked clean and gleaming. The mouth lay agape, flashing a macabre smile that looked like a leering laugh. Lafayette took the rings from the man’s fingers, pressing his jaw closed before rolling him aside.

As his bag grew heavy, Lafayette pondered just how much was out there. In just one wreck he had scavenged coins and rings, knives and bayonets that hadn't been eaten by the briny sea. His pouch was filled to bursting with it, though he knew it was not nearly enough. For him to grab Washington’s attention, to secure some victory for his cause, he would need a fortune that rivaled those of the splendid members of Louis’ court.

Lafayette did develop a fondness to it though. There was something magical about unearthing forgotten human relics. Maybe it was the way a jewel would glimmer at him from beneath the sand. Or the way a silver teapot would feel under his fingers. It spoke of a hidden beauty that only humans possessed. One of creation and creativity, where a small bit of silver ore could be a dainty serving tray, or the slender blade of a knife.

But it was fleeting.

The time and effort they put into their craft was not meant to last the ages, not the way the natural world was. Lafayette could visit a reef every hundred years and watch it grow. Or he could visit a wreck and watch it decay. Everything humans touched eventually crumbled. Just like them. Yet to Lafayette that made it even more beautiful. He felt lucky to gaze upon fine craftsmanship, to hold it before it dissolved into nothing.

Laying in the shadow of one wreck was a large frame. Lafayette recognized the way it hung from the wall, remembering the walls of Versailles lined with pieces just like this. Human likenesses. Their faces captured on canvas in rich luscious paints. He swam close, moving some fallen curtains to shed light on the painting.

From beneath the fabric peered two eyes, their steely blue like was captured in cracking paint. Lafayette fumbled, dropping the partition awkwardly as he came face to face with the portrait. It was of a young man, auburn hair tied back neatly into a queue. He stood tall, strong shoulders back as he leaned on one leg. Lafayette hovered before the painting a moment, taking it all in. The eyes, the strong jaw, the timid expression. It bore a striking resemblance to Washington. Though this would have been many years ago. The man he saw on the river that night was older. A little less trim, but still graced with those chiseled features and soft red curls-- though now they were peppered with silver at the temples.

Lafayette blushed, a little embarrassed with himself. One human had already scorned him, and here he was quivering in the presence of another. The weight of gold at his hip felt heavy, a harsh reminder of the work he's putting in for a human he's never met. The man could be cruel. Meaner than Louis and his wretched court. He could be hurt, mocked, humiliated by his men for just dragging himself ashore. Possibly killed.

Yet the longer Lafayette tread water before the painting the deeper the urge he had to join him. Hop out of this cold dark wreck and into the bright  landscape of the painting. Stand beside Washington and feel the warm sun on his skin. Link arms with him and stroll down the dirt path, talking sweetly. Lafayette imagined that on Washington's arm he'd feel light as air, his feet forgetting their awful sting. And if he stumbled, the man would right him, guiding him back to his feet. Those strong, capable hands steadying him on his aching heels. Broad chest sturdy enough to lean against until the throbbing subsided.

Lafayette sighed, leaning closer to the painting, to admire the brush strokes upon each cheek of the man. The tinge of pink dabbled across the high bone, leading his eyes down the dark shadowed line of his chiseled jaw, further still to where the neck cloth was tied neatly at his throat. Handsome, yes, despite the cracking paint webbing across the man’s fine features. Refined. Comely.

He reached out to trace those features, follow the line of his lips and strong chin. His mind raced, hand anticipating the soft velvety feel of skin--only to bump harshly against cracking paint. All at once the illusion shattered, the young man’s face falling away in a brittle cascade of flaked paint, leaving only the dull gray canvas. Lafayette squashed the feeling of disappointment, gathering the last of his trinkets and turning from the painting.

He silently hoped that the real Washington wouldn't crumble to bits when he finally met him.

* * *

 

Any man alive would kill for the little treasure trove Lafayette had accrued. Now, if only a man could hold his breath, and dive some forty-odd feet to the submerged cave in the cliffs, he could have it!

It had taken _months_ but he had done it. Every nook and cranny of the cavern was lined with trinkets and baubles, stashed neatly in wait. Gold coins, silver pieces, strands of pearls and ivory pins, jewels spilling from their little boxes. Lafayette looked each one over with care, imagining the way they must glitter on the necks of young ladies out and about. Though he wouldn't spend much time dancing, thank goodness. These pretty baubles were being traded for munitions.

Which brought him to his next task…

He would have to regain his land legs, and this time it would not be pretty. It would not be a long night in stuffy silks and heeled shoes, but miles and miles on foot, crammed into high leather boots as he trekked through mud and rain. He winced at the thought of spending hours his toes, pretending as if the world wasn't made of jagged rocks. It frightened him, but the prospect of taking just one step into that wooded beyond was enough to draw him from the safety of the sea once more.

And now for the practice.

Lafayette would _not_ make the same mistakes he did before, starting first with the _shoes._ Skimming along the banks of a shallow river, Lafayette caught sight of a few soldiers splashing drunkenly in the water. Their boots and red uniforms lay discarded on the banks as they enjoyed the spring air.

It was an easy swipe, Lafayette only surfacing an instant before diving once again, boots in hand. As he sped down river he caught the bits of a surprised conversation.

“Oi!! Some man just swiped my boots!”

“Where?”

“He dove down with them!”

Raucous laughter could be heard. “Lay off the whiskey, Richards. You're seeing things.” Lafayette smiled, wondering how they'd explain away his missing pair of boots to their commander.

Safely downstream, in a bend surrounded by thick woods, Lafayette decided to try out his new wears. Steadying his breath, he hoisted himself up out of the water and onto the clay of the river bank. His legs fell apart, toes wiggling free again as he clawed his way onto land. It hurt, terribly so, the memory of the phantom pain nothing compared to the agony he was in right now. How he ever built enough tolerance to walk those few years ago was a miracle.

Shifting so that he leaned against a rock, Lafayette poised the boot over his foot, guiding it in. He slid it down, anticipating the tight compressed feel of the boot. Only...it didn't happen. His heel hit the still back of the boot, toes wiggling helplessly as he tried to jam his foot into the shoe. Too small. _Too small?_ How could that be? The shoes he donned in Paris fit just right. Lafayette tossed the boots aside, slipping back into the soothing pull of the water. He must find better boots.

The second pair was swiped from a man who fell asleep against a tree whilst fishing, though his were no better than the first. His feet were much too large, and although the boots no longer pinched, Lafayette tripped helplessly over them. They too were tossed aside. The third pair came from another bather, as did the fourth, fifth, and sixth. The seventh came from a sleeping soldier, and the eighth from a baker whose cat had made him put the shoes out to dry. But all were ill fitting, and Lafayette was about to lose hope in ever finding a proper pair of shoes.

Until...he happened upon a little cobbler’s shop. It was propped by the river, shoes displayed in the window. The back door faced the water, and Lafayette could see a line of new boots set out as the man swept his shop. In the dim light of the evening he lit a candle in the window, its warm glow illuminating the fine craftsmanship on the boots.

Lafayette watched from the reeds, unsure of himself. This would be a risky grab, one that required him to leave the water on foot and _run_ , but the man had nice shoes. And quite a few pairs he could sample from. Plus, he was busy! All that dust in the shop, he would hardly notice Lafayette taking a pair or two from the back porch.

Silently, Lafayette pulled himself from the reeds, his land legs returning. Though he wished to howl in pain, he clamped his lips tight and willed his feet to move. One excruciatingly slow step at a time, he padded up the grass, leaving wet imprints in the soft crushed grass beneath his feet. It was thrilling, really. The cobbler was none the wiser, peacefully sweeping his shop as Lafayette drew closer to his target. He could see why men played their war games.

Nearing the door, he crouched to examine the boots. His failed trials helped him weed out which would certainly be too big, or too small, and he pushed those aside accordingly. That left three pairs, hard to distinguish in the low light, that could be a good match. Lafayette took a few steps to the side, quietly gathering up his boots.

“ _Meow!”_

Lafayette snapped his gaze up, seeing a little cat just on the other side of the door. He eyed Lafayette hungrily, little yellow eyes dilating. Lafayette scowled. These little creatures had no fear. Why, just a few days ago the baker’s cat had scratched him as he swiped some boots, nipping at him like he was a fresh fish on the line. He shooed the cat away, flashing his teeth--though now they were straight and few, just like humans.

The cat arched his back, hairs standing on end as he hissed loudly. Loudly enough to cause a fuss.

“Pebbles, what’s---Hey! What do you think you're doing!” The cobbler shouted, brandishing his broom at Lafayette as he stood discovered.

Lafayette shrieked, fleeing with the boots in hand. “You lunatic! Stop! Thief!” The man shouted. Lafayette ran harder, the pain in his feet numbed by adrenaline. Oh and that _mangy cat_ , running just alongside as if to mock him!

“I've met eels kinder than you, you little beast!” Lafayette hissed, jumping into the water. The cat whined loudly, jumping back from the splash dramatically. Lafayette surfaced just for an instant to mock the thing, spitting a stream of water to chase it from the banks. How anyone lived with such a testy creature was beyond him.

Luck was on his side tonight, it seemed. The second out of the three pairs he swiped was a match. The boot fit over his foot with ease, hugging his heel in the same way the shoes he had worn in Paris had. Raising himself to his feet, Lafayette took his first few steps. The pain was bad, though not as terrible as in Paris. Unlike those shoes, these seemed to be made for walking. The lift in the heel made trekking over uneven ground easier, and the leather was warm.

He also found a few tricks to boots that he had not expected. For one, the leather kept most water out. But any water that got into the boots, stayed there. Curious, Lafayette found a discarded linen, ripping it to strips and soaking it in the river. He then wadded it up, stuffing it into the toe of his boot. The water that squelched out helped ease the pain in his heels, and Lafayette found that even a small puddle of water sloshing around in his boots scaled the stabbing down to a prick of needles on his soles.

It wasn't ideal, and it took practice to roll his foot in such a way that he did not sound as though he had just walked through a river, but it made it bearable. As spring became summer, Lafayette was able to walk for hours. By the height of the season, he could walk for days, skirting along the river bank in the sweltering heat, stopping only to refresh himself in the water. Soon, Lafayette decided it was time. His weeks of practice had been fruitful. It was time to drudge up the treasure, and assume his new role in the Colonies.

* * *

Lafayette started slow, with only a pouch full of gold and a keen eye. He drifted along the river, looking for a well off target. With summer still bearing down on them, it wasn't long until he found someone worth looking at.

From afar he spotted a man wearing a familiar garment. A fine suit the likes he had not seen from Versailles. He was accompanied by a lady friend, one who he was most amused with, speaking to her in soft French, though she understood very little. Lafayette scoffed as they undressed playfully, discarding their clothes to splash in the water. And they had the _audacity_ to mock him on land. The man could hardly walk a few steps without stumbling on a river rock, or slipping deeper into the gentle current.

Still...he was the right build, and as he busied himself with his lady friend (in a way Lafayette had not seen before, and quite frankly found a little odd) Lafayette closed in on the pile of clothes tossed beneath a tree. He waited, watching to see if the couple ceased their kissing to check on their belongings. They did no such thing.

Taking the chance, he leapt from the river, dashing to grab the garments, before heading towards the riverbend just on the other side of some trees. The splashing drew some attention. The woman shrieked, covering herself and she hid behind the French man.

“ _Ce pervers nous regardait!_ ” The man shouted, catching only the sight of Lafayette fleeing through the treeline and to safety.

Lafayette laughed, splashing into the river once more, the trees hiding him from the couple. Yes, this was a fine suit! He held it up over his head as to not soak it, and carefully made his way upstream.

He hung it from a tree branch, taking his time to inspect every little article. How on _earth_ did they wrap him up back in Versailles? There were several layers, some of which didn't fall right on the body without proper knots. Using the reflection in a salvaged silver mirror, Lafayette practiced dressing himself. He pulled on his stockings, fastening them carefully. Buttoned breeches and sleeve shirts. He tussled with his neck cloth for hours, until the stifling constriction felt as manageable as the pain in his feet.

Lafayette looked himself over in the mirror, examining his hard work. He looked good. He looked _human._ Just as clean and refined as any man he had seen in court.

Tomorrow there would be a new man about town. A young Frenchman with deep pockets and a bleeding heart for liberty. He would step from the great beyond into the thick of war, and hopefully, land right beside General George Washington. Not as a mermaid, not as a man.

As a Marquis.


	4. Mingling

Lafayette could still feel the sun baking his cheeks, the way the cool northern waters lapped and pulled around him as he clutched the jetty formation, eyes closed and face turned up towards the sky.

“For his valor and friendship.” Said a small voice, deepening itself for an heir of authority and majesty. “I hereby bestow upon this merman a human name, and christen him as God has given humans their right to do.” Lafayette felt the small trickle of seawater over his brow, tracing the bridge of his nose and running down his cheeks like divine tears. It was just seawater, poured from the hands of a child, but it differed from any water he had felt before. According to humans, this one had  _ purpose. _ A divine duty to protect the soul of whom it touched. A token of life everlasting, for creatures whose fingerprints hardly lasted a century. 

“From this day forth you will be known as Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier,  _ Marquis _ de Lafayette.” 

* * *

 

“That's a bit of a mouthful, ain't it?” The soldier said, a huff of amusement slipping through his exhausted tone. Lafayette smiled warmly, shifting on his feet so that he could feel the wet rags squelch beneath his toes.

“Yes, but you may refer to me by title.” He beamed. Though Lafayette was humming with excitement, the officers huddled in the little pub were less than ecstatic. They curled around their mugs, swilling murky brews that made the tavern reek of stale sour bread, their faces worn thin from fatigue. The once crisp buff and blues of their uniforms were sullied, most of the men wearing frayed jackets and boots with worn soles. 

Lafayette in comparison looked as though he had rolled out of a carriage. His efforts had paid off, and he looked just as becoming as any young gentlemen of the court of Versailles, with a neat suit, clean stockings, shiny new shoes, and wig under which he had tucked his hair.

Of course, the transformation took a great deal of coin, with Lafayette stumbling from the forest in his stolen garments long enough to find the shops and go about buying a proper wardrobe. His wrinkled stolen suit had been taken and pressed, his measurements written down as he wove a heartbreaking story of war and strife to his tailor: A poor Marquis, here to offer aid to The Colonies, when he had to flee and abandon his trunk of fine wares as British forces approached. They clicked their tongues and cooed over him, forcing steaming cups of tea into his hands and thanking him for his generosity. 

He had hoped that the continental army would be more receptive, taking him in and revving him up for human battle, but the travel worn ragbag of soldiers in the tavern proved otherwise. Here he was a polished jewel, come to watch the spectacle of war. To these men he was a voyeur looking for a few tales to bring home to his manor, where he could dazzle his guests with stories of misfortune. 

“We mean no offense, Marquis, but we've had quite a few Frenchmen try to join our ranks. Glory seekers who get killed or desert the moment things get rough.” The officer said, returning to his drink. “And you're a young lad, rich too. Your family wouldn't think much of their own in the muck with us. You could get hurt.”

Lafayette scoffed, tempted to correct the man on just how  _ young  _ he was, but held his tongue. “I assure you, sir, that my intentions are good.”

“We all have good intentions. They just don't hold when the rations run out.” 

And that was that. The men went about their conversation, still politely engaging with Lafayette, but hardly taking his offer seriously. It irked him, especially since their plight could be easily mended with a few of the chests he'd plundered over the course of the year, but saying so would do little more than rub these men the wrong way. He would have to prove them otherwise.

That evening, lodged in a little inn on the edge of town, Lafayette planned his next move. From the tub he had drawn he sat, soaking himself in the hot steamy water, feeling it soothe the ache in his tail from trotting around town all day. He went over the things he had learned, the people he had seen. Underfed, underdressed, under stress. Little sprouts wilting in the summer sun, trampled by the forces of their King. Lafayette splashed at the water absentmindedly, draping his tail over the cool edge of the tub.

“This is going to be expensive.”

* * *

The camp lay away from town, where the roads became winding and overgrown. Lafayette felt the distinct feeling of being swallowed, dragged into this great green beyond humans called the forest, far from his home beneath the sea. He wondered if this what it must be like to be human...to be helpless. Still, there was a calm familiarity to it. Here the world shimmered like emeralds, the thrum of water replaced with the rustle of leaves and click of insects. The sunlight dappled and moved across the forest floor like waves changing with the breeze, and far above him were the cry of birds. 

Sheltered by to cool canopy of the trees, Lafayette trod along the path, ignoring the throbbing ache of his feet as he made his way. If he was correct, and his intel was true, the rebel army had set up their forces just through this dense woods. He made no sound save for the crunch of leaves beneath his boots, and the jingle of coin in his purse. It was rhythmic and soothing, keeping him company as he marched towards his new fate.

His meeting with that officer had not been unfruitful. Despite their cynical outlook, Lafayette had scored a written letter, permission to enter camp and speak with someone higher up. The chance to make his case, and ask for the opportunity to be part of the cause. 

“Who goes there?!” A voice called. Lafayette followed, stepping off the path and towards a clearing. The men were clad in buff and blue, wielding bayonets.

“A Marquis and friend.” Lafayette responded, reaching for a letter in his breast pocket. “I am here to enlist.” The men looked skeptical, taking the letter from him hastily, and examining the signature.

“That's the captain’s, alright.” A man mumbled, reading the letter a second time. “Let him through. Escort him in.” His tone was wary, but Lafayette walked through with a spring in his step. His blood felt electrified, coursing quick as lightning through his veins as he was whisked through the camp. 

Despite their downtrodden condition, the camp was bustling with life. Men loading carts, women digging the baking pits as others hauled uniforms to be cleaned and mended. They paused to watch Lafayette pass, his neat appearance greatly out of place amongst the sea of dirt splattered soldiers. 

“Sir, Marquis de Lafayette for you.” 

Entering the little tent, Lafayette could see the officer from the tavern, a little more gray and weary than he was over his cups the day before. He sat beside two others, the markings on their jackets indicating higher rank. Years from now Lafayette would struggle to remember their names, but alas this interaction was only one of millions, and unlike Washington, their faces would fall far below the surface of his memory. 

What did happen was brief. They were dubious, eying Lafayette with caution as he made his case once more, this time without the stench of ale in the air. “You are in need of aid, and I have the funds to supply it.” Lafayette said, crossing his legs casually. “I can buy uniforms, munitions, new carts and rations. Things that are in dire straights.” 

The Captain tapped his knuckles against the wood of the desk. “You understand that the Congress of these new United States cannot repay you. Nor can we compensate you for your time. Whatever feud you have with King George is on your own coin.” 

Lafayette reached into his jacket, producing a little envelope. “I can assure you that my own coin will be just fine.” He said, handing it over to the officer. “This is just a small portion of the funds I've brought over, and it's appraised value.” 

He waited patiently as the officers opened the letter, eyes widening as they spied the seal and the amount scribbled onto the page, before exchanging stunned looks.

“Well then, Marquis.” One of the higher officers said, taking the letter and tucking it away. “Welcome to the Continental Army”

* * *

The work was rather nice, Lafayette had to admit. He rose early, watching the sun rise over the ridged peaks of the evergreens, basking in the rosy glow of dawn as he started morning rounds. 

It was enjoyable, perhaps even a little natural, to join the soldiers in formation as they shifted to and fro, their buff and blues catching the light like a school of fish. Strength in numbers, something he had never needed. Humans were young and fragile, and with every about face he could pick out the weakest ones. The ones who would become sick, the ones who would be slow on the draw, the ones easiest to pick off from the group. He watched them all, each of his senses pricking at their missteps, unable to do more than offer a friendly word to those he found salvageable. But what's the word of one predator to a school of minnows? 

Each day men would march from camp, and Lafayette would wave goodbye to those he knew would make the Colonel’s list of deceased. It was sad, really, but unavoidable. The cause was so fragile, that telling one man that he could avoid death would result in a ripple of deserters. Instead, they were cast out like stones on a pond, skipping loudly and then never to be seen again. 

Lafayette ventured little into that pond. It seemed that the higher officers, though content with his skill and optimism, were afraid to let him slip deep into war. Lafayette cursed himself for choosing the title of Marquis. While his wealth and faux status had gotten his foot through the door, it now kept him tethered to the camp. Instead, he was fated to be a cash cow, milked until his reserves ran dry. 

“There isn't anything I can do?” Lafayette asked, smiling sweetly. “I have come all the way from Versailles, and I assure you I am more than prepared to face battle.” But the answer was always the same. Some roundabout speech where Lafayette was too young, too valuable, too green. That is, until they offered him a consolation prize.

“Marquis de Lafayette, your support for our cause has been  _ extremely generous.” _ Lafayette resisted the urge to roll his eyes, expecting this to preface some new request for funds. “To thank you for your kindness and patriotism, we have received word that you have been invited to an officer’s party.” Lafayette raised and eyebrow with interest. 

“It's not battle, nor is it the glittering social circle of Versailles, but some of the State's most illustrious men will be there. Including General Washington.” 

How hard it was not to spring to his feet with joy! General Washington! He had planned to meet him through valor and victory in battle, but a party? He could do that easily. “I accept!” He chirped, rising to his feet. “I will meet your General.” 

“Here's all you need to know.”

He was handed a small letter, which he opened eagerly, a moment of panic washing over him as he spied the long swirling marks across the page. Human sigils . Cursed again! Merfolk were able to speak in human tongues, a gift used for their craft of allure, but they were not versed in written human communication. Letters dissolved in the sea, and those Lafayette had found floating in bottles melted in his clammy palms. The Colonel cleared his throat, sensing Lafayette's distress.

“Is something the matter?”

Lafayette broke from his panic, lips turned up in a shy smile. “You must forgive me. My English is still...young.” He fumbled. “It takes me longer to read. I shall be there, however, with the utmost enthusiasm.” He said, slipping the note into the safety of his breast pocket.

His heart did not cease its fluttering as he was dismissed from the tent. It thundered so loud that Lafayette was convinced the letter settled over his breast would wrinkle and shred as his chest heaved. This was  _ it. _ His long months at sea, plucking treasures from the sand. Weeks on his aching feet, soaking his human toes in basins each night. Dusk after dawn, keeping his eyes peeled for some chance...some miracle. And here it was, in the form of a pity invite. A bone thrown to sate his desire for something to  _ happen _ during his enlistment. Well,  _ happen _ it shall. 

* * *

Lafayette fidgeted with his neck cloth before the mirror, considering redoing it for the fourth time. As well had he had become at dressing himself as a human, his appearance always looked slightly off. A tie askew, a button not turned properly. Something small and subtle that would draw the eye, and make a man ask himself why a man of so many years could not dress himself properly. A soldier once remarked on Lafayette's uniform while they drank merrily, asking if he had never dressed himself back at Versailles. Lafayette merely took the excuse, feeling grateful that this man at least thought he had worn clothes his entire life, and had not smelled the brine on his skin, or noticed the silt beneath his nails. 

Still, it brought him little comfort as he fixed himself up once more before the mirror, trying his hardest to look as presentable as Louis’ servants had made him all those years ago. His hair was covered in a wig, and his face washed until his cheeks glowed. The small bottle of perfume he had acquired from the market was spritzed, its floral aroma clouding his senses.  _ To wash out the brine _ \-- or so he had heard all those years ago. It didn't matter what he smelled like, but to these Americans it was imperative that he commit to his role. The little bottle had to be French, and expensive. 

He chose to forgo the rouge, or any powders on the face, thankful that the colonists did not engage in some of the more decorative luxuries of the French elite. Between his wig, starched uniform, and tight boots, Lafayette felt stifled. It was a wonder he could sit by candlelight or hearth side without drying out like a fish in the sun. A little splash of tepid water from the basin helped keep him steady, his face once again doused as he waited for the carriage. There was no turning back now, and everything must be perfect. 

“Marquis de Lafayette?” 

“Yes?” Lafayette said, dabbing his face with a dry rag. He read the young soldier's face, looking for signs that his appearance was disheveled or inappropriate. The man only blinked, cleared his throat, and continued--his head bowed in respect. 

“The Colonel sent me for you. The carriage will be setting off soon.” 

“Thank you.” With a quick look back in his mirror, finger rubbing the glass to ensure the spots he saw were not --in fact--on his uniform, he left the tent to join his fellow officers.

The carriage ride was bumpy, but more jovial than the carriage ride he had taken to Versailles. A flask was passed around, the four men taking sips as their ride bounced and rattled down the road. Lafayette giggled as they hit a bump, whiskey dribbling from his lips as the carriage jumped. 

“D’ya think the crowd is going to be fine tonight?”

“Your missus sure hopes it isn't.”

They clapped their hands on Lafayette's shoulders, passing their drinks as they swapped stories of raucous parties, loose women, and near misses with the law. “...and let me tell you, I barely got back from that party in one piece. Spewed my dinner all up and down Green. Ah, to be young.” The Colonel passed the flask back to Lafayette.

“You're a young lad. Any stories?”

Lafayette smiled, sipping the flask slowly. “No, sadly. Versailles has rules, and customs, many of which put me to sleep. Not like here. Here is...fantastic.” 

The men chuckled, taking the flask from him for another pass around. “That's the whiskey talking. I'm sure France is something else.” Lafayette thought back to his time, brief as it was, rolling through the French countryside. Hills swelling like waves, turning orange and then purple in the waning light, until finally turning inky black with only the glow of moonlight. How it smelled of the sea, until the trees came and replaced brine with the smell of moss. 

“It was nice. Soft. Not like here.” The flask had been passed back to him, but this time he feigned his sip, letting the whiskey touch his lips and fall back into the flask. “There's something wilder here. It's untouched. There's a whole sea of mountains and forests man hasn't touched and yet you fight for your chance to see it.” 

An officer took back the flask, taking a deeper swig. “I can see why you talked him up to the General.” He said, looking into the flask, examining its contents. “He's optimistic.”

Lafayette blushed, wringing the hem of his jacket. “You're embarrassing him.” the Colonel scolded, finally capping the flask tight. “The Marquis has just the outlook we need. General Washington will be pleased to meet him. But less so if we all come in stinking of whiskey. Ready yourselves, we’re close.” 

The carriage slowed, creaking to a stop outside a charming manor. It differed greatly from Versailles,yet still exuded some simple elegance that won Lafayette's heart. Candlelight poured from every window, and through the window of the carriage he could hear pleasant chatter from guests mingling in the cool night air. The door opened, and his comrades stepped out, their legs only the slightest bit unsteady as they hit the dirt path. 

Lafayette climbed out, stumbling slightly, only to be caught by one of the officers. He put a finger to his lips, giddily hushing Lafayette's shaking laughter at their tipsy balance. “None of this inside. The big man can be a little strict. Nice and orderly, yeah?” He slurred only the slightest bit, causing Lafayette to smile and return the shushing gesture.

“Yes, sir.” 

Inside the room was bustling, with soldiers from other outposts in uniform escorting ladies in fine evening wear. They held their drinks, smiling and eying the door to the dining room, eager for their meal. Lafayette accepted another drink, but decided to sip it slowly. The heat had begun to rise to his cheeks, and between his uniform and the candlelight, there was only so much heat he could take. 

Still, the company was lively. Unlike the French court, colonists were interested in speaking to him. They swarmed him, asking all about the French way of life, how glamorous it was. They listened eagerly as Lafayette spun tales of ceilings gilded with gold, and bubbly champagne. He was neck deep in a story of the fashions of French women, when a hush fell over the room.

It was a stumble in the merriment, a moment where conversation and music teetered off, as a new guest arrived at the manor. One of the officers leaned in to whisper in Lafayette's ear. “General Washington.” 

The man who stepped through the door was greeted with applause, and Lafayette found his hands clapping along as he craned his neck to peek over the crowd. Washington was  _ here. _ Closer now than he had been all those months ago on the ice. So close that Lafayette's keen sense of smell could pick up on the pomade he used to set back his hair. It floated in with breath of evening air that drafted in through the open door, and lingered long after the stale air inside the manor had returned. 

There was commotion, cheers and rally cries as Washington made his way through the parlor, shaking hands with some of the officers, his lips leaned close to their ear to share some secret joke over the roar of the crowd. By the time the noise had settled, the ladies wrangling their husbands back to their senses, Lafayette had backed himself into a corner.

What was he  _ doing here _ ? 

Washington was  _ not _ Louis, that he knew from the start. No, Washington was  _ tall _ , towering over most guests by a head and a half. He was broad, and sturdy looking, walking with a smooth confidence that made Lafayette's gait resemble a tangled puppet. His voice was a rumble as he laughed with the officers, but never in the hearty, jovial way Louis had. His smile was tight lipped, eyes stern. And as eager as the crowd was to see him, Lafayette noticed how nervously they shifted on their feet around him, practicing what they would say behind their hands before approaching him.

It hit Lafayette like a wave, pure panic shooting through him. This could be  _ disastrous.  _ This man was not a king, who sought little social embarrassments for entertainment. This man was a solider. And if he fumbled the way he did before. If he gave away  _ what he was,  _ Lafayette had no doubt the man would club him before he reached the door. 

‘ _ Silly fish’  _ Lafayette scolded. ‘ _ Your little crush has killed you.’ _

A small bell rung, the guests now filtering into the dining room where their plates had been set out. Lafayette sighed with relief as he took his spot, feeling easier watching Washington from afar. 

The meal went on splendidly, with Lafayette able to try more human food than he had ever seen at camp. The men often laughed at his excitement for stale bread and dried meat, telling him he didn't need to pretend that this crusty meal was appetizing--yet to him it was. Though as he finished his salad, a bowl of creamy soup placed before him, he started to see what the men meant. They missed greens. They missed fresh meat and creams. They craved bread that was soft and warm, steam escaping from where it broke between fingers. Lafayette didn't mind helping himself to seconds. According to his comrades, human food helps soak up human drink--and his stupor in Versailles could have been avoided with a hearty meal. 

The only disappointing plate was fish. Lafayette hardly recognized it as it was placed before him, the normally pinkish red flesh now white and flaky. It was de-boned, apparently, because human throats cannot squeeze bones through without lacerations. It was cooked because human stomachs cannot handle raw meat. Taking a bite out of it almost made Lafayette heave. There was so salt. No blood. No fatty oil. It had been cleaned out, only leaving the flesh, under what looked like a sauce of lemon butter. 

The men around him ate it heartily, Washington included, so Lafayette choked it down as to not appear rude. His fickle appetite might be seen as a slight, and he'd rather not lose his chance to speak to Washington over some poorly prepared fish. 

He poked at the dish, taking as big a bite as he could without issue, while gazing at the man from across the table. The initial fear had begun to fade, and all of Washington’s finer details returned to Lafayette. He watched the way he cut his food, strong hands cradling the silver utensils with utter care. They hardly made a scrape as they cut through to the porcelain, clinking  only lightly as food was pushed onto the tongs of his fork. Lafayette was shy to admit he was mimicking the man, quietly pushing food onto his fork in the same manner as dinner droned on. 

He  _ was  _ handsome. Older looking than Lafayette, though Lafayette had most likely been alive since before their Colonies were even discovered. Still, he exuded a certain charm. Old enough to be looked to for guidance, young enough to still make ladies turn and blush upon seeing him. The Colonel hadn't made a move to introduce them, for which Lafayette was grateful. Though his courage was building, one shaky introduction could break all his hard work. He just needed an in. A moment.

And by some providence it seemed to come. The plates had been cleared, and there was to be a little time between dinner and dessert for mingling. The men pushed back their chairs, taking up their drinks to mill around the parlor once more. The ladies soon followed, clumping together to share gossip. It was then that a letter arrived, carried in by some young courier who handed it off to Washington. The General excused himself, retreating to a little office just off of the dining room, lighting a candle to read it. 

The officer had forgotten him, just as they had forgotten Washington as their night turned from tipsy to drunk, leaving him alone not twenty feet from the man. With his back mostly turned, Lafayette could catch a glimpse of his profile, face skewed with worry. The same deep, troubling look he had witnessed on the river, as Washington looked to the stars for guidance. If there ever was divine intervention, one without fins that pushed ice clear of boats, this would be it. 

Lafayette waited until the letter was finished and folded back into Washington's pocket before he approached him, stepping into the dark office on shaky feet. 

“General Washington?”

Washington straightened up, turning quickly, only to look down at Lafayette with some subtle recognition.

“Yes?” 

Lafayette cleared his throat, ignoring the throb in his feet. “I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette.” He stumbled a bit, finding the name clunky and awkward. He bowed his head politely. “It is an honor to be at your service.” He waited, heart in his throat, for a response.

To his surprise, Washington bowed  _ back.  _ A gesture that send his heart racing as he struggled to listen to his response. “Marquis. I have heard much about you.” He said. Lafayette tried his hardest not to blush, but he could feel the heat creeping across his cheeks. 

“They tell me that you commandeered your own ship to come join our cause, and have had a tale or two since joining us worth sharing.” Washington said, a hint of amusement in his voice. Lafayette willed his voice back to him.  _ Tales _ ? Well, only the ones fueled by imagination and whiskey. Still, they were truths to these men. 

“ _ Y-yes _ , your excellency. Though I regret not sharing them sooner, at dinner.” He said. Though somehow that comment made them both uneasy. Washington shifted on his feet in a way Lafayette couldn't help but find a little anxious. 

“I apologize for not introducing myself sooner, Marquis. When you were silent over dinner, I suspected your English wasn't quite strong. I did not wish to embarrass you by making you speak in front of my officers. It was rude of me not to inquire sooner, especially after your generosity.” 

Lafayette felt his stomach flip. Washington was apologizing  _ to him? _ He wrung his hands nervously, trying his hardest to steady his voice...to look Washington in the eye as he spoke. 

“I could be  _ more _ generous, General, but as of yet I have seen no real combat. Money and man power are both in high demand, and I am still able bodied.” He said. Washington’s expression softened, his next thought hard to collect.

“It is terribly unfair to you, Marquis, that you're not assigned to more perilous tasks, but I fear that is my doing. I had heard reports of your enlistment, seen your age. You're a boy not yet twenty, and a noble of a foreign country. I feared, and do forgive me for saying so, that you might follow the footsteps of other foreign men who have come to our cause. They bring Old World knowledge, look to get their hands dirty, and spirit away once they've had enough of the spectacle of war.”

He paused, reading the hurt over Lafayette's face before continuing. “I see now, however, that I was wrong. Your support is invaluable, and your training extensive. I believe we can find you something a little less mundane. That is...if you don't have any objections.”

Lafayette straightened up as if to match Washington’s height. “I am not here to teach, sir, I am here to learn. My old world knowledge will be mine alone unless asked for. And my hands will be dirtied until this war has seen its end.” 

A light flickered in Washington's eyes, his expression warm and proud. Lafayette, for the first time all evening, did not feel stifled by his uniform. He felt lighter than air, barely touching the floor on his aching feet. The only thing keeping him to the ground was the heavy weight of Washington’s palm on his shoulder, a soothing warmth he could feel through his jacket. 

“Let us rejoin the party before they place out dessert. I’d like to sit you next to me and make up for our silent evening.” Washington offered, leading him out of the study. Lafayette let himself be guided into his new seat, Washington pulling in his chair next to him. Their arms brushing close as the smell of chocolate and powdered sugar started to emerge from the kitchen. 

And for once, Lafayette felt confident enough to take the new glass of whiskey poured---one for him, one for Washington. Tonight, he was far from the sea, but felt very much at home. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fathoms and other prompts can be seen on my tumblr @grumblebee-trilogy
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! Show some love if you enjoyed what you saw!


	5. Full Dress

Dinner that night had ended raucously, with Lafayette's officers throwing caution to the wind as they stumbled drunk from the manor, still in the presence of General Washington. Lafayette struggled to his feet, the long day in tight boots wearing his resolve thin, but a firm hand helped him right himself. Startled, he turned to see Washington at his side, a broad palm pressed to his shoulder. His height caused Lafayette to crane his neck, stumbling back against the grip Washington held on him. The man did not let go, nor did he startle; he only held tight, and let Lafayette rock back onto his unsteady heels. 

“I may have poured too tall a glass for you, Marquis, I apologize.” Washington said, mistaking Lafayette's pained steps for a tipsy lean. “I forget most men are of smaller stature than I.” Lafayette blushed under his gaze, which was warmed by the few glasses of whiskey he had over dinner. A slight flush tinged his cheeks, and Lafayette could see the tiny pin pricks dappled across the pink skin-- marks from a disease he had seen claim some of the soldiers at camp. Only these were scars, long since fresh. Lafayette broke his state before Washington thought him rude. 

“Most men are not of your stature, though that doesn't mean we can't aspire.” Lafayette said, heading towards the door alongside him. “May my glass be tall where my legs are not.” Washington chuckled, his attention diverted to the sounds of officers singing loudly outside the manor. 

“That seems to be a familiar sentiment in your camp.” He smiled, though it was thin lipped and timid. “Though, between us two, sometimes to stay in good spirits one needs good spirits.” There was a crash, and a chorus of laughter as a fallen soldier tried to lift himself from the grass. Their commotion rattled the glass panes on the first floor window, and Washington let out a sigh.

“Don't tell them that I said that. This is wholly unacceptable.” He said, stepping out into the night to terrorize his men with his presence. They snapped to sloppy attention, goofy giggly smiles pinched into a tight lipped faux sobriety that made Lafayette smile ear to ear. Humans were clumsy little things. They tipped and tumbled, sometimes even on purpose, but they always got back up with zeal-- and he could see that as Washington loomed over them, voice a deep bellow as he reprimanded his Colonel. 

“--And I expect to see you pressed and dressed at dawn, when I arrive to inspect camp. Are we clear?” Washington said, his face stern as he stared down the Colonel. 

“Yes, your Excellency.” 

Washington turned away, returning his attention in time to glimpse Lafayette as he stumbled through a thank you to their host. He waited patiently, hands clasped right behind his back as Lafayette hobbled to meet him. 

“Marquis, I cannot express the gratitude I have for your commitment to the cause, and how sorry I am to have made your acquaintance so late this evening. Allow me to make it up to you. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a ride tomorrow? After I inspect camp, of course.” Washington asked. 

Lafayette felt his heart flutter, mouth dry as he fumbled for a response. “It would be my pleasure to ride with you. Though I must admit, my skills on a horse are far behind yours.” Had Washington asked, Lafayette would gladly remove his boot and roll down the stocking to show the multiple bruises he had won from failing to dismount his horse properly. He did not ask, however. He only smiled, and paused to take a deep breath of the night air.

“Then we shall ride slow, and enjoy the countryside.” He said. “Goodnight, Marquis.” 

Lafayette nodded, seeing his officers piled into their carriage haphazardly, legs and arms tangled as they passed around another flask. He joined them, catching a glimpse of Washington as the door clicked shut behind him. He need only wait a few more hours to see him, but it felt like an eternity.

“You had fun, Marquis. Told you the General was eager to meet you.” The Colonel said, his speech slurring .

Lafayette smiled, not at the Colonel, but as Washington through the glass as the carriage began to trot off.

“Yes” Lafayette said quietly. “That he was.” 

* * *

The sky had only just begun to dust pink and orange, silhouetting the black trees as Lafayette yawned into his gloved hand. It was a painful sight to see his fellow officers drag themselves from their cots, only having scraped a few hours sleep. Not nearly enough to remedy their aching heads and heaving stomachs, a few wretched outside their tents, rinsing their mouths with water and praying they did not faint at attention. 

This human ailment Lafayette did not encounter. He felt tired, yes, and in need of a sunny rock in some cool shallows to catch up on his beauty rest, but his head did not split the way his fellow soldiers did. He did not feel the need to empty his stomach, or grimace as the smell of hastily cooked meat filled the air. But it didn't hurt to pass up the greasy plates passed around, opting to break fast on a crust of bread and a cup of water, until it was time to line up.

That being said, Lafayette looked especially put together as Washington’s horse drew near to camp, flanked by other officers. He had come through on his word, the first golden rays of light striking across his brow just as he stopped at the entrance of camp. He dismounted, and greeted the Colonel. 

“It's good to see we haven't added green to our colors.” He teased, eyeing the way the Colonel struggled to stand at attention. “And I expect to have a full tour of camp before you lie down.” The Colonel smiled, and agreed softly.

Washington walked down the line, putting half drunken soldiers to shame in a manner Lafayette found most charming. He stopped at each one, using a firm hand to straighten their jacket buttons, or tighten their necktie, subtly reminding them of their feeble attempt to recover from a night of drunken stupor. They each turned a delightful shade of red, mumbling embarrassed  _ “Thank you, Your Excellency” _ s and “ _ My apologies, Your Excellecy” _ s. Lafayette wiggled his toes excitedly as Washington drew near. He had done his very best to look impeccable, but if he was less than perfect, who better than General Washington to correct him. 

Lafayette stood up straight as Washington stopped before him, greeting his scrutinous gaze with a wide smile. Washington’s expression softened, eyes dancing up and down Lafayette as he awaited his critique. “Impeccable, Marquis.” He said, his lips curling up into the faintest smile. “Are you normally an early riser?” 

Lafayette beamed. He had passed inspection! And though he missed the opportunity to have Washington lay his hands on him and straighten his collar, the pride of conquering man’s perplexing ritual of dressing filled him with joy. 

“I would not miss an opportunity to ride with you, Your Excellency. I’d beat the sun to do so.” He said sweetly. Washington nodded, clapping a hand down on Lafayette's shoulder. Lafayette smiled brighter, aware of how his cheeks faintly pinched.

“Then let us evaluate camp and be on our way.”

The tingle of Washington's hand through his jacket remained as the officers broke attention, dispersing through camp to their posts. Lafayette and Washington tailed the Colonel, treading over muddy ground into camp. 

“As you can see, Your Excellency, we are in desperate need of supplies.” The Colonel said as the passed supply carts. “We’ve been collecting guns and bayonets from dead soldiers, British and Continental alike. As well as a cache of guns donated from those sympathetic in the towns we’ve passed. But no one will take our money. They still only trade in British coin.” 

As more soldiers began to rise, the smell of food filled the air. They passed a fire where a few men sat gathered round, their meal some stale bread and scraps. “We’ve been lucky this summer. Some of the women who have trailed the army have collected wild berries or bartered old trinkets for food. But once the cold comes we won't be able to forage. Needs can't be met unless more people start to accept Continental coin.” 

Washington sighed. “I am afraid we cannot force those we meet to accept our money. Don't waste anything. Preserve what can be kept through winter.” A soldier lifted the lid of a barrel, and Lafayette peered in to see it half full with grain. The soldier picked up a handful, letting the fine grain trickle out through his fingers.

“We’ve scavenged new barrels. No moisture yet. But one bad rain and we can't bake bread.” The Colonel said. Washington pressed his lips tight.

“We must make due. Anything else? Munitions? Boots?” He asked. The Colonel nodded solemnly.

“All in dire need. Especially as summer wanes. The Marquis has been most generous, buying new guns as he enlisted. But men die or desert, and we are losing more than we are saving.” Lafayette swallowed thickly, trying to mentally calculate how many supplies he could purchase with another small chest from his trove. 

They moved through the camp, inspecting tents and looking over medical tents full of returned prisoners. Washington took it all into mind, doing some quiet calculating of his own as he strode through camp. When particularly distressed, Lafayette noticed him pick up pace, forcing Lafayette and the Colonel to race two strides to Washington's one. But his face remained calm. Collected. The very still eye of a hurricane Lafayette had come to know as this army. 

At its end, the Colonel was hobbling a few steps behind them, his face pale and sweaty. The brisk pace and uneven ground worked against his hangover, and he began to sway on his feet with the grace of a sick swan. Washington stopped at the makeshift stables, exhaling slowly.

“We shall stop here. Colonel, I suggest you recover in bed. Tomorrow I shall return, and we will talk strategy.” 

The Colonel was more than happy to stumble off to his tent, face glistening with sweat as the heat of the day steeped in. Another soldier brought out two horses, one being Washington’s, and the other a young mare. The reins were presented to Lafayette, the brown mare snuffling softly. 

“Now then, I think some fresh air will do us good.” Washington said. He mounted his horse with ease, and Lafayette felt his throat tighten. Horses were tricky creatures. They bucked and bolted, spooked easily on the same paths Lafayette had rode for weeks. He took in a shaky breath and hoped that today of all days he could mount the beast in one try. Any more than that and he'd humiliate himself in front of Washington.

“Absolutely, Your Excellency.”   


Lafayette seized the saddle, and hoisted himself up in one swift motion. He settled into the saddle less than gracefully, and was certain he looked less confident than Washington atop his horse, but it was a success. He wasn't thrown, and he hadn’t slipped, and as Lafayette urged his mare to follow Washington's lead he let out the breath he was holding. 

They rode out onto a trail that circled the camp, just behind the tree line where they could watch the men work in the clearing. For a time it was silent, with only the sound of horse hooves and insects filling the air. The sun was high now, beaming down on the camp, but out here the shade provided some relief. Under the green canopy, sunlight filtered and quivered  like waves, dappling Washington in light. Shadows danced across his features, painting him as a regal king deep within the forest. Strong and tall like a mountain, but quick and flexible like a tree in the wind. He was at peace out here, if only for a moment. 

“I apologize, Marquis, if it appears as though we beg you for more funds.” Washington said. Lafayette sat up straight in the saddle, his heart in his throat. “We are in dire straights, but it is no excuse to prey on your generosity.” 

Lafayette urged his horse forward, bringing himself alongside Washington. “It is my honor to fund whatever you may need, Your Excellency. You need not fear to ask. Men need boots and food.” Washington looked down the path with weary eyes.

“May I ask, at the risk of being impolite, what is it you see in our cause?” Washington asked. He seemed almost ashamed to do so, eyes cast down to sweep the trail before them. Lafayette’s heart splintered.  _ For you, for this. _ No, too bold. A thousand stories flashed through his mind, the ones he told ‘round the campfire, all grand and embellished. Stories of a young human Marquis who decided to take off, fight a fight he had barely caught wind of, for some wistful idea of liberty. But Lafayette could not force them to pass his lips. Washington was a perceptive man. He could not be dazzled by the wonders of Versailles, nor blinded by the charming tales a little fish spins. He had no doubt already heard every boastful tale Lafayette had told, and now wished to see if the man behind the legend’s heart was in the right place. Finally, after chewing his lip quite a bit, Lafayette spoke. 

“I was a sheltered child. My life was peaceful and gentle, but with this looming fear of what lay outside my home. Places I was forbade to go. People I could never see.” Lafayette said. He twisted the reins in his gloved hands, his palms beneath slick with sweat. 

“When I finally ventured out, I was educated of the plight of those deemed different. And I realized that riches had blinded me. Those I believed were benevolent were in fact, cruel and unkind.” Lafayette winced, the memory of himself on the ballroom floor in Versailles forcing itself to the forefront of his mind. “And I saw no world in which that was a true way to live.” 

Lafayette dreaded the silence that followed, afraid that he had spoken too openly. He felt as though he had picked some unsightly scab, and underneath was a wound fresh and vulnerable. It bled into the silence, and Lafayette was painfully aware of how swift and powerful his companion was. Here on land Lafayette was a guppy, small and gasping for air. Washington was something a little more...apex. He wondered if Washington could smell it; the blood in the water. He wondered what this predator would do once he caught the scent of fear.

Washington lifted his gaze from the trail, leaning back in the saddle to better look at Lafayette. His eyes roamed over him, searching his features for something Lafayette couldn't put his finger on. Sincerity? Perhaps vulnerability? Yet a gentle smile crossed his lips, and he tipped his head in gratitude.

“I must say, it is an honor to fight alongside a man who takes the suffering of others to heart.” Washington said, turning back to the path. “I have crossed many men in this war. Most come for glory, or to claw their way out of debts the British have laid on them. Their efforts are not unappreciated, but they are also not…” he took a moment to find the right words. “...well, let's just say they aren't as noble as you.” 

Lafayette blushed, lowering his lashes at the compliment. Washington glanced back, spying the heat creeping across his face. “Either I've horribly embarrassed you, or the heat is as unbearable as I think it is.” He said wryly. Lafayette chuckled, pulling at the starchy cloth around his throat. 

“It is the heat, Your Excellency.” Lafayette said, feeling the material loosen, but not alleviate the stifling sweat breaking out under his uniform. “You could never embarrass me.”

“I’ll take your word for it--”

Suddenly, Washington craned his neck, catching some sound from beyond the trees. It caused Lafayette to freeze, and focus his senses in the direction Washington turned. Whatever his commander heard, it was not dangerous. Lafayette could not hear the frantic fluttering heartbreak of an assassin in waiting, or smell the stench of fear most men exuded when in hiding. Instead he picked up on splashing, and laughter, several men by the sound of it.

“Looks like we found an oasis.” Washington chuckled, turning his horse down a smaller, less trodden path. Lafayette followed curiously, watching with nervous excitement as his mare tread along the uneven road. It took a few minutes, but Washington followed the sound of laughter until they exited the trees to a small clearing, a large pond sparkling in the sun. A few soldiers splashed carelessly, unaware that two new visitors happened upon their secret spot.

“You men wouldn't be neglecting your duties, would you?” Washington asked. Lafayette had to stifle a laugh as the men snapped to attention. Humans were fascinatingly modest, shyly covering themselves as Washington stared down from his horse.

“No, Your Excellency. We happened across here on our way back, and wished to bathe.” One sputtered. A new nodded in agreement. Washington gestured to their uniforms, which lay scattered in heaps around the edge of the pond.

“And so you did. Quickly now, redress and head back to camp. Doubletime. Don't let me catch a stocking or neckcloth left behind. You’re to return to camp decent.” He said. The men scrambled, pulling on their breeches and shirts frantically. They swapped and traded pieces, having thrown on the wrong waistcoat or jacket in their hurry. Once their uniform was completed they stopped before Washington’s horse, stammered a quick apology, and marched out into the woods. Within five minutes the scene was over, and the pond was quiet.

“Now then,” Washington said, dismounting his horse “We have the place to ourselves.” Lafayette felt his heart flutter, and he shimmied from the saddle, dropping from the horse quickly. His heels hit the ground hard, sending the shooting pain of phantom knives up through his legs. Lafayette hissed, shaking out his pained feet. Washington looked over his shoulder.

“Blisters, Marquis? I suspect you're worn from marching.” He said, unloading a satchel from his horse. Lafayette hobbled over to a large rock, ignoring the sensation of his knees turning to jelly as he plopped down on it.

“Yes, sir. The march is long, but good for the lungs. Lots of fresh air and beautiful trees.” He said. Washington pulled two apples from his bag, feeding one to each of the horses before joining Lafayette in the shade. He shared the rock with Lafayette, gazing into the rippling water of the pond. 

“Now might be a good time to test your theory.” Washington said. Lafayette watched curiously as he leaned forward, grasping and easing his boot off his foot. “That I am unable to embarrass you.”

Lafayette smiled. He wondered for a split second if he should feign human modesty. Blush and shy away as Washington removed his other boot and began to roll his stockings down. But it was hot, his feet ached, and he was determined to be true to his word. A little skin would not embarrass him.

“Not at all.” Lafayette returned, biting a finger on his glove to help peel it off. He flexed his fingers, relieved to be free from his gloves, before working to pull off his boot. Washington had already dipped his feet in the water, kicking them lazily. He looked over at Lafayette as the first boot slipped off, exposing a smooth expanse of skin.

“You seem to have forgotten your stockings.” He chuckled. “Might I have praised you too soon at inspection this morning?” His tone was sweet and teasing, and Lafayette found himself crossing his ankles shyly as he dipped his feet into the water. Whether it be the pond or Washington’s stare, his skin was covered in goosebumps. It sent a delightful chill down his spine. 

“Perhaps.” Lafayette said, feeling his aches melt away in the water. “Or perhaps I woke this morning to find I have grown taller than my stockings. I did aspire to it the night before.” Washington laughed. 

“Another tall glass and you’d have outgrown your uniform.” They shared another laugh, letting it trickle out so that it was no more discernible than the gentle splashing of the pond.

The two kicked their feet leisurely, the slow circles they churned rubbing against their ankles as they made whirlpools at their feet. A few tales were traded, some of which Lafayette had told before around a campfire. Only now he said it with lowered lashes, humbly telling his story to the water bubbling at his feet, rather than the man listening with rapt attention. To meet his gaze sent shivers through Lafayette, and an appalling heat that would ignite concern in Washington. Better he confess his travels to the water, than explain his fever flush. 

Washington had tales of his own. Mostly of home, in a wonderful place called Virginia. It sounded like a wild eden, though Lafayette suspected that was mainly from how fondly Washington spoke of it. He told tales of his home, of his lovely human mate--whom he missed dearly. Lafayette found it sweet, gently prodding him to share more about his mate. On land they called them wives, and they stayed in their homes while the men went to war. Martha wrote him letters, some of which he carried with him, and Lafayette felt a pang of sadness that he could not read them properly. Thankfully, Washington read a few passages aloud to him. ‘ _ I sometimes must read her handwriting twice to understand it”  _ he sighed, smile upon his lips.

Lafayette was astounded by human coupling, or rather--their capacity to love and care for offspring that aren't their own. Martha’s previous mate had died, and Washington played father to two of her children. He had none that were truly his own. For a species that lived and died in an instant, they packed in a remarkable amount of compassion. 

Soon the sun began to dip, no longer blazing down through the trees as they shared the small cache of food in Washington's pack. “There is something I must ask you before we return.” Washington said, cutting an apple with a small knife. Lafayette gnawed on a crust of bread, eyes wide and eager.

“I have seen some potential in you, and I am aware of how you wish to fight right away.” Lafayette perked up, ready to be put to some assignment. Washington raised a hand, sensing his excitement. “ _ However,  _ I would like to offer you a position at my camp. We could use someone of your spirits there, and you would have the chance to fight, while also helping me oversee what needs to be funded. I have an aide-de-camp who is most eager to meet the man pouring his personal fortune into the cause.” 

Washington paused, fiddling with the sticky slice of apple in his hand. “Would that interest you, Lafayette?”  _ Interest? _ As if the mere offering of his name, and not his title, wasn't enough for Lafayette to dredge up his entire fortune from the depths. He did not need to think, nor find it necessary to feign mulling the offer over. It was a clear, and wholehearted  _ yes. _

“Nothing would honor me more, Your Excellency.” He said. His cheeks pinched hard from smiling, but he could not stop. And it seemed to be contagious, pricking at the corners of Washington's mouth as well, until the man let a warm smile slip, before raising a hand to his lips to hide it. 

“Well then, we have much to discuss. I am staying at the manor we met in last night. I have strategy meetings in camp tomorrow, but my things are being sent ahead. It would be best if we headed to camp now, where you shall collect your belongings and join me at the manor. You may ride with me to camp tomorrow, and then we shall both head to our new camp. Is that alright?” 

Lafayette nodded, excitement bubbling in his chest. He would ride alongside Washington. Work and fight beside him. Stay close to him, and give him anything his heart may desire. He pulled his feet from the water, so overjoyed that he lay two sweet kisses on each of Washington's cheeks. He felt Washington tense, and suck in a small gasp as his lips first brushed against his cheek. Then felt him ease and relax into the second, a fine blush dusting his cheeks.

“Let us go at once!” Lafayette exclaimed, heading for his  horse. Washington struggled to speak, fighting off a daze as he watched Lafayette wiggle his toes and try to hop in the saddle. A breathless laugh escaped him.

“Dear boy, you've forgotten your boots.” 


	6. Wine and Dine

Parting from his camp had been brief. With his collection of items so few, packing took less than a half hour. Though the departure was delayed due to friendly faces stopping by to wish him well. Lafayette assured them that he would return tomorrow, for General Washington had arranged a strategic meeting before they were to set out for their new camp.

“Aye, but we won't be seeing you. The Colonel, sure, but us privates will most likely be doing grunt work.” One man said, fiddling with the flap of the tent. “Plus it'll be boring not to hear your drinking stories.” Lafayette laughed, rolling up some spare stockings to stuff into his pack. 

“You’ve plenty of those, friend. And many more to come if you all spend your earnings on the nearest tavern.” He said, feeling a pang of sadness as he realized he would no longer be joining them. 

“Earnings, ha.” Another laughed through a mouthful of apple. “Ain't no man here who’s got earnings from Congress. We got lucky to find that little purse on the road last time. Stretched that out a good while on watered ale.”

“Piss ale.” One remarked, shuddering. 

“Yes, and that one too.” The man sighed. “I envy you, Marquis. General Washington's table is never bare. Next time we meet--god willing-- you’re going to be fatter than a prize hog.” He tapped Lafayette's stomach with enthusiasm. One soldier handed of a small flask he had stored in his jacket pocket.

“Him? He's thin as a reed. My cousin’s the same way. Food falls right through him, nothing sticks.” 

Lafayette laughed, hoisting his pack over his shoulder. “Then we shall make it a bet. Next time I arrive, let me know if I waddle.” He jested. 

With that last good laugh behind him,Lafayette headed towards the horses. The sun had begun to grow weaker, and he hurried his pace, feeling bad for keeping General Washington waiting even a minute longer than he needed to.

They agreed to meet at the stables, and Lafayette found the door ajar as he neared it. The door creaked on its hinges, swinging open slowly as the smell of horses filled his nose. A few stalls down was Washington, who was absent mindedly stroking the mane of his horse. Lafayette smiled to himself, feeling giddy excitement bubble in his chest as the prospect of, well,  _ this.  _ Being close to Washington. Being a part of his great cause. 

The sound of the door broke Washington from his thoughts, and he glanced up at Lafayette standing eagerly in the doorway. “You have gathered all your necessities?” He asked. The horse snuffled, nudging his nose into Washington's palms in search of treats or a friendly stroke across his mane. Lafayette shifted the pack on his shoulder, it's strap digging into the muscle. 

“Yes, your excellency. And I would like to thank you again for this opportunity.” He beamed. Washington smiled back, lips pressed tight together, before shyly returning his attention to his horse. He clicked open the half door of the stable stall, guiding it out by the reins. 

“I am most grateful you accepted.” He said. With a small nod of his head he gestured towards another stall in the stable, Lafayette's mare from before shuffling behind it impatiently. “She looked most agreeable to ride. Plus, I think she's fond of you. I've asked that she be yours.” 

Lafayette smiled, walking over to stroke her muzzle. “Thank you, sir.” He breathed. Indeed this horse was nicer than most in the camp. She’d never thrown him, even when it would have been most comical to do so. A smooth ride, and a pleasant demeanor. A good companion. Washington looked on with silent pride for a moment before the sun crossed through the wood of the stables, glaring in his eyes.

“We must set out now. The manor is a thirty minute ride, and we mustn't be late for dinner. Or arrive without the courtesy of freshening up.” Washington said, leading his horse out of the stable. 

Lafayette swung open the half door and lead his mare out into the dying afternoon light, hot summer sun cooling to a warm humid evening. 

“Absolutely, sir.” 

* * *

Lafayette could smell the manor well before the lights of the flickering candles came into view through the trees. It came in on the breeze, a faint mixture of fatty meat and bread, with only the slightest hint of perfume that led Lafayette to believe his arrival was throwing the manor into a tizzy. General Washington’s stay alone must have been hectic, but now they were offered a Marquis, and Lafayette felt a pang of guilt that his title caused such a fuss.   


Washington’s pace hastened as the first glimpse of the manor, forcing Lafayette out of his thoughts and onto the task at hand. The road here was quite uneven, and Washington had explained that heavy rains and constant travel had pitted the trail. 

“Did you not feel it's unease in your carriage ride as you arrived last night?” Washington asked, maneuvering around a fairly deep gouge in the ground. Lafayette did the same, his mare stepping past it with ease. Did he? All he remembers is a cart full of drunken soldiers, and a flask in his hand.

“I'm afraid I was  _ preoccupied,  _ your excellency.” Lafayette said, cheeks pink. Washington chuckled.

“A flask will do that to you.” 

Lafayette bit his lip, smiling ear to ear. “There's no fooling you, sir.” He tried his best not to think too much about the wink thrown back at him; a silent but playful retort from an otherwise stern man. And luckily, he didn't have much time to spare thinking of it either, as the party turned off the road and down the path leading towards the manor. It was only a few more minutes before their trot slowed at the sight of their host standing by the door.

“Mr. Evans, good evening.” Washington greeted, his horse now taking slow leisurely strides. “I hope we haven't missed anything. Dinner smells lovely.” 

Mr.Evans was a reedy man, long and thin, hair almost entirely gray. Lafayette recalled speaking with him briefly before Washington's arrival to the party the night before. Both Mr.Evans and his portly wife Samantha were in no dire straights, even in the thicke of war. Their manor was pristine as it was charming, and by the smell wafting through the doorway, Lafayette surmised that they didn't just bake fresh bread for parties. It must have brought him great pride, for he grinned brightly as he welcomed them in.

“You haven't missed a thing, your excellency. Cook needs another half hour.” Lafayette followed Washington's cue to dismount and remove his pack, and handed the reins off to an attendant. 

“Then we shall freshen up and join you at the table.” Washington said. He motioned for Lafayette to follow, stepping through the door and heading for the staircase. Lafayette clutched the strap of his pack tightly, heart in his throat. He had never been invited to sleep in a human dwelling before, with an exception of the inn he rented. But this was different. It was  _ lived in. _ The manor was not normally for wandering guests who pay for a thin mattress for the night. It was a home, made for people and their families. A sort of human nest filled with the comforts and necessities they need to survive. There were many rooms, all in neatly decorated hallways with similar doors. Family portraits and oil paintings of serene landscapes. Ornate rugs and carefully chosen baubles. Each item placed there by a human, marking the house like a soulful fingerprint. 

“This will be your room, Lafayette.” Washington said, opening the dark wood door. “It is just as large as mine. I hope it is to your liking.” Lafayette’s breath hitched.  _ Indeed it was. _ The room was grand, almost too luxurious for a fish who normally slept in silt. The floors were dark rich wood, gleaming as though newly polished. The curtains were drawn, and a fire had been stoked, readying the room for their arrival. Awash in the flickering glow of the flames, Lafayette stepped into the room and set his pack on the floor.

“It is splendid!” He marveled, turning to take in the whole room. “You must not worry about my liking. I am easy to please.” Washington pressed his lips into a prim smile, turning towards the fireplace to hide his amusement.

“I shall leave you to your things then. Freshen up and put on a clean uniform for supper, and I shall meet you at the table.” He said. Lafayette fired off a short ‘ _ yes, sir’ _ before Washington turned on his heel, passing through the doorway with the silent grace of a phantom, before clicking the door close behind him. 

And now to appreciate the dwelling a little more closely.

Lafayette could barely contain the smile on his face as he ran a finger over the mantle of the fireplace. His glove came back clean, with not a speck soiling the white tip of his finger. Humans did not like dust. Nor did they like dirt, as the floor was immaculate. The inside of a human dwelling contained very little of the natural world outside, save for the flaky bits of bark that littered the floor before the fireplace, and the ash falling away from logs as they went up in flames, curling and crumbling until they were no more than heaps of soot. 

Fire. 

Lafayette shuddered, remembering the searing pain in his hands from when he was trapped beneath the burning dock only a year ago. Of all the things men brought into their home, fire was by far the most perplexing. It ate everything, destroyed everything, but here it was sitting neatly in a pit in the wall. And it radiated a kind of warmth Lafayette could have never imagined, even from his favorite sunning rocks by the shore. It was like hot breath against his cheek. A spirit breathing into him, burning his nose and brow with each lungful it released. Lafayette found himself turning his palms towards the flames, touching the wall of invisible heat that hung there. It was quite pleasant.

A sudden pop from the fireplace sent Lafayette back to his task. He removed a fresh uniform from his pack, taking off his travel worn one and folding it into a neat little pile on the chair. The rest of the room would have to wait until after supper. Lafayette dreaded making his hosts, and Washington, wait. He rolled down his breeches, mentally going over what few table manners he had observed. Do not make your utensils scrape the plate. Complement the host. Take seconds, but leave enough for all. It was all elbows and posture and polite conversation held at almost a whisper, until the wine kicked in and a hearty laugh coaxed people out of their shells. 

Lafayette sighed and dipped a rag into the basin of water provided for him. Just enough to swab himself down, and rub the smell of horse from his skin. He passed the rough rag over his neck and down his chest, and then another few passes between his thighs to rid the stick of sweat. His new uniform was put on with a speed he was especially proud of, with only one or two buttons placed in the wrong loops. It was easily corrected, and topped off with a few dabs of the fine French perfume stowed away in his sack. Examining himself in the mirror, Lafayette felt certain he was acceptable to leave his room.

He retraced his steps down to the bottom of the stairs by the door, and then once more to the dining room he had feasted in the night before. Mr. and Mrs. Evans were already downstairs, chatting quietly in the parlor.

“Marquis! Just in time. Cook is bringing out the plates as soon as General Washington joins us.” Mr.Evans said. He motioned to a bottle filled with amber liquid. “In the meantime might I offer you a drink.” 

Lafayette smiled sweetly. “That would be lovely.” The heavy glass was pressed into his hand, and Lafayette took to the task of small talk over the drink.  _ What business do you deal in, Mr. Evans?  _ peppered the occasional story about France or the war. 

Humans never seemed to tire of hearing about Versailles, about its riches and splendor. It occurred to Lafayette for the the first time that perhaps that should disgust them.  People like Louis, like their George III, lived in luxury by siphoning riches from the people. Swirling his glass, Lafayette felt a pang of dread, remembering what he was told as a child; that humans were jealousy, petty things. Given the right circumstance, what would stop fine Mr.Evans from becoming his Louis? What would stop any of them?

“Mr.Evans, I apologize for the delay.” Lafayette turned on his heel, facing Washington as he entered the parlor. “I see drinks have already been taken care of.” Washington had also changed into fresh clothes, and Lafayette wrinkled his nose curiously at the sweet smell of pomade used to smooth his hair back into its queue. It mixed with the faint scent of soap, and Lafayette noted that Washington was a bit pickier about how clean he must be before supper. 

“There's no delay at all, General. Come, let us eat.” Mr. Evans said. 

They sat clustered around one end of the long dining room table Lafayette had visited just the other night. Without the elbowing and hearty laughter of officers the house was eerily quiet. Lafayette could even hear the steady tick of a grandfather clock as their meals were brought out. 

This time the food was brought on heaping platters, and each guest could take his fill. Lafayette let out a sigh of relief when he spied a tray piled high with braised beef. No fish tonight. He could dine heartily and pay true compliments. 

Lafayette did, however, struggle just a bit. The meat was so tender that the slightest prod from his fork sent it falling apart into fine ribbons. It took diligent effort with fork  _ and  _ knife to push the food onto the prongs, and quickly raise it to his lips before it fell noisily from his fork. Chewing on the savory bite he had scrounged up, Lafayette was relieved to see that his fellow guests were struggling in the same manner. Washington had a firmer grasp on the motion needed to actually feed himself, but Mr. Evans’ food had called from his fork several times already. They found it quite amusing, remarking on how it meant the meat was cooked well. “Not tough as leather as I’ve had st camp.” Washington said, shy smile curling the corners of his mouth. “You pull your own teeth out chewing it.”

By the time Lafayette had seconds of the potatoes, the conversation had turned to the war. But it felt different than before. In the presence of officers and their companions, the war was a bright and jovial thing. A fight for freedom. A fight for the common man. Everyone smiled and raised a glass at the mere thought of it. Yet as they sat around the table, Lafayette began to notice the way Mrs.Evans nervously dabbed the napkin to her lips. 

“For reasons quite clear I cannot tell you much about our strategy, surely you understand.” Washington said, edging around a question. It was Mr.Evans who had broached the subject of Washington's leaving the manor, something that was intended for the next day. This would be his last night in their home, and it caused some concerns. 

“I know you can't, General. But is there some comfort you can give me and the missus to hold once you part? She can't go into town without hearing more news of redcoat scouts and spies probing deeper into our territory.” Lafayette shifted uneasily. Perhaps these folk took Washington in as a kind of security measure. A temporary fix to the fear of war outside their home. Surely the safest place to be in a revolution was in your bed, not forty feet from a well guarded rebel. And now that Washington must go, they are stuck with the stain of his company. Any British soldier who accosted them now might consider it treasonous. 

He looked to Washington, hoping to find some warm look of comfort. Instead he saw him plainly; a man overworked and worn thin. “I must ask that you have faith in the cause. In my men.” He said “and that we will persevere.”  _ Persevere... _ in the more general sense. Come out victorious despite the shoddy barrels holding their grain. Or the soles worn through on the soldiers’ boots. Or the guns taken by men who had fled into the woods at the first crack of gunfire. The continental army was a hair’s breadth away from unraveling, but here in the quiet shelter of the Evans’ home, it must be a thriving, living thing. The embodiment of a force sent to protect this man and his life. Lafayette cleared his throat.

“And persevere we shall! I would not have crossed the perilous sea unless I truly believed this army could win.” He chirped happily. It turned the attention away from Washington, who had grown tired of dodging Mr. Evans’ insistent questions. “And with a good fortune too.”

“How thoughtless of me to forget, Marquis.” Mr.Evans apologized. “Surely a man with such a noble title wouldn't take interest in a cause without weighing the risk.” Washington let out a small breath of relief, though he hid it well behind his cup. Lafayette nodded, pushing some greens onto his fork.

“Yes, it's true. It would be foolish to invest such time and resource if the outcome wasn't favorable. I am many things, Mr. Evans, but frivolous I am not.” 

“Perfume excluded” Washington quipped, throwing him a wink. Lafayette returned his wink, sipping daintily from his cup. Mr.Evans laughed, fears temporarily eased, and ran a hand through his silvery hair. 

“Well then, all this talk has worn me out for the night. I expect you’ll rise early. Should cook prepare a meal to take with you?”

“That would be most helpful, sir.” Washington said. He pushed his chair out smoothly, and rose to shake Mr.Evans’ hand once more to thank him for the dinner. Lafayette followed suit, eager not to be snagged in a second round of tense war hypotheticals. Thankfully his hosts settled with the words of comfort he had shared, and let him follow Washington up the stairs.

Lafayette wasn't sure what to expect when they reached the top of the stairs, turning down the hall towards their quarters, but it wasn't this. He did not expect Washington to stop at the door to his room, fiddling awkwardly with the knob as if uncertain whether to share his thoughts. Nor did he expect the man to need a minute to collect himself. A man such as Washington always had the right words. What must have happened for him to struggle to find some meager ones now?

“It seems I am in your debt once more.” Washington said, his voice low. Lafayette leaned in close, afraid of letting a single word drop from Washington’s lips that couldn't be caught by his ears. The man practically spoke to the floor.

“Not only for your contributions and enlistment, but for your tact. You handled Mr. And Mrs. Evans’ concerns with confidence and compassion; two things I seem to be losing more of each day.” He sighed, and Lafayette could see the hours weigh heavily on him. Up well before dawn, and most likely a few more toiling hours until sleep. There was so little room for his own comfort, let alone that of others.

“I won't lie to you, Lafayette. Our cause is  _ fragile _ . You have seen the camps, seen the men who don't return. But they…” he gestured towards the downstairs staircase, eyes flitting to make sure no one was listening. “They must never know. People are frightened. I fear by winter they will shut their doors to us, and then it will only be a matter of time.” Lafayette felt his heart splinter. He had only just gotten here. Made a name for himself and met this man. Seen humans, befriended them too. They deserved something better. At least a chance in the very short lives they had. 

Lafayette reached out, curling his hand around Washington's arm tenderly. The man flinched, if only with surprise at the touch. The color rose to his face, a Look Lafayette had come to read on humans as shame. “I apologize, I shouldn't have burdened you with this. I just do not wish to write home and tell your family you squandered your life and fortune away for…” he backtracked, eyes to the floor.

“Your Excellency.”

“Yes?” 

“I am well aware of the risks. And this is a task I am set to complete. I shall not leave your side until these colonies are free, or I am rolled into the sea on a corpse cart. And even then, it would not have been squandered.” 

For the second time that day, Lafayette raised himself up on aching toes, and placed a kiss on each of Washington’s cheeks. He did so carefully, his hand still tight on his bicep, using it to pull himself up. Washington’s hands rose to clasp Lafayette's shoulders, and help ease him back on his heels. And, as if catching onto this foreign custom, Washington returned the favor. He stooped his head low, placing the first kiss on Lafayette's right cheek. It tickled with the budding scratch of stubble, and smelled faintly of perfume as Washington moved to place another small, hesitant kiss on the left cheek. Lafayette's head spun, and it was only the firm grasp on his shoulders keeping him steady. 

“You must rest.” Washington said, releasing his grip. “We’re to rise early tomorrow, and I am in great need of a sharp mind.” He said so with a smile, small and full of relief. Lafayette felt his cheeks pinch. Washington had opened the door to the room, and gently guided Lafayette inside with a hand on his back. The fire was still going, and his pack lay just as it was. Lafayette turned, and gazed up at Washington. 

“Good night, Sir.”

“Good night, Lafayette.”

And with a click of the door he was alone again. 

 


	7. Promotion

Human beds are the most divine creations on this green earth. Softer than any sandbar Lafayette had laid his head on, and topped with pillows and crisp bedclothes, it was the pinnacle of human experience. Sitting on it tempted one to lay down. Laying down on it tempted one to crawl beneath the sheets. Once beneath the sheets, you were helpless. The cool touch of linen warmed to the body beneath it, but to Lafayette's delight he could find the perfect median simply by moving his legs around the bed. It took merely seconds for him to bury himself beneath the bedclothes like a ray, lounging lazily as the sound of the fireplace crackled in the distance. 

Nothing could ruin the feeling of a good bed. Not even the scratchy nib poking from Lafayette's pillow, that with a tug revealed itself to be the small feather of a bird. A few horrifying minutes (and gentle pillow shaking) later, Lafayette had learned that his pillow was not in fact stuffed with tiny imprisoned birds. Just their feathers. How quaint. 

There had been many beds like this since his newfound position in Washington’s camp. Though still a sort of financier, Lafayette took great delight in being Washington's guest of honor, and closest confidant. They sat quietly side by side each morning before dawn; Lafayette emptying spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his bitter morning coffee, Washington politely trying not to notice. Letters were passed over bread and sausage, so frequently now that Lafayette had begun to recognize the way human sounds looked on paper. Only a handful of letters, organized almost always phonetically. In the faint light of dawn, Lafayette would mouth quietly along with the lines, committing each one to memory.

“Your English has improved.” Washington remarked once, eyeing Lafayette as he was halfway through a response letter. “You're writing much faster now.” Lafayette blushed under lowered lashes, keeping his bashful gaze to the paper before him.

“Thank you, your excellency. You have given me much time to practice.”Precious, valuable time. It pained Lafayette to not fully share his accomplishment with Washington. That he may in fact be the first merfolk to read and write like humans do. There were mistakes, yes. Tricky words in English that were spelled with silent letters, or had double meanings. Washington was polite enough to show him the difference, but somehow missed a few. Letters from Lafayette had been called  _ charmingly French _ , as his errors were looked at with a sort of wistful fondness. 

Their day together was equally close. Lafayette spent his time by Washington's side, evaluating camps and the men, as well as sifting through letters from officers. Mountains and mountains of correspondence, most of which Lafayette had to sort in order to find the most urgent reports. There was a pile that threatened to slope off the desk, all forwarded to Lafayette; requests for funds. Washington's expression was always pained as he watched Lafayette pick through it, no doubt guilty that his army had since abandoned hope that congress would pick up slack, only to shoulder the burden on a foreign child. But the little treasure trove Lafayette accrued was for the cause, and he did not think twice signing over any amount.

Perhaps _any_ _amount_ was a bit too careless. On one such occasion, after dinner, Washington knocked on Lafayette's door shortly before bedtime. He held a stack of letters Lafayette recognized as funds he has approved that day. They looked worn and wrinkled, as though they had been thumbed through many times over with nervous hands. 

“Is something wrong, your excellency?” Lafayette asked, his eyes wide and innocent. Washington stepped inside, gaze averted from the patch of bare skin peeking from Lafayette’s undone collar. Humans were curiously bashful at the sight of their own skin, and Lafayette gently tugged his shirt together to feign modesty. 

“Not  _ wrong,  _ just…” Washington took a breath. “I hope we are close enough that I can say this without it bringing insult.” Lafayette nodded silently. “I am most grateful for your funds, as is this army. But I fear you are almost... _ too _ generous.” 

Washington placed the letters down on a roll desk in the corner. “I review these requests after you sign, and I began to notice discrepancies. Officers who ask for more and more, and their camps display little aid. Yes, the necessities are met: food, munitions, uniforms. But I fear that officers are taking advantage of your kindness, making you foot the bill for their nights out. It is wrong, and those who I have caught in this scheme have been punished severely.”

The initial shock of it took a minute to set in. But once it did, Lafayette felt his throat tighten. That money had been for the  _ cause _ . For guns and boots, and a hot meal to help the soldiers sleep at night. He felt foolish, eyes stinging with tears. How many more men could have been fed if these officers did not line their pockets? How silly he must look, throwing his fortune at men who sit and laugh and bill him for their next meal? And here he was, trembling with anger and humiliation, heartbroken. 

“My dear boy” Washington said gently. His expression had softened, eyes searching for some way to comfort him. It was only a few seconds before Lafayette felt two warm palms on his shoulders; a heavy, steadying weight that ceased his quaking. “This is not your fault. You did an honest, noble deed. Unfortunately, most men will step over honor for the sake of personal gain. When faced with death tomorrow, morals today fall by the wayside. It is wholly my fault for not catching it sooner, and letting these men bleed us from within.”

Lafayette blinked tears from his eyes, feeling them catch and clump in his lashes. “Nonsense, sir. You lead an entire army. Of that I'm most proud.” He gazed up at Washington, noting the fine flush that had bloomed across his cheeks. “And I still want to fund this revolution, your excellency.”

“I am thankful this hasn’t soured your liking of Americans.” He chuckled softly. Lafayette eyed the stack of letters on the desk, an idea sparking in his mind.

“I will entrust it to you.”

“Entrust?”

“My fortune, sir. To help me make better decisions. I will sign it away to any man with a heartfelt letter, but  _ you _ have a sharper mind to see who is waiting to play me like a fiddle.” Lafayette said. “You may even allot how much I may spend, in order to use it to its full potential.” Washington released his shoulders, hands nervously fiddling with the cuffs of his uniform. 

“I couldn't possibly.” He said, his voice tense. “It is  _ your _ fortune, not mine to hand back to you like a child’s allowance.” 

“That would not be the case. I will bring you the things I see most urgent, but you will help me determine which are genuine. And perhaps knowing how much I have left will help you remain vigilant, as it is no longer an unknown pit--seemingly infinite.”

Washington nodded, clearing his throat. “Exactly how much are we talking?” Lafayette smiled, remembering the last appraised amount, not including the plethora of treasures still submerged in his trove. He scribbled it onto a scrap of paper and handed it to Washington.

“This is the amount on hand. And more can be added to it, with a little notice.” 

Washington stared at the number, dumbfounded. Lafayette found it quite charming. His eyes did not light up with interest, nor that playful glint his Colonel once had. It was stern, and full of concern. It was as if he were tallying how little he could take, and how much Lafayette would insist. After a moment, Washington collected himself, tossing the scrap onto the fire crackling in the fireplace. “It seems like a fair plan. I promise that I will not let this gross misuse of funds happen again. Especially not when it preys on your generosity. I wish you a goodnight, Lafayette.”

“Goodnight, Your Excellency.”

It would have been a clear parting, had a thought not worked its way into Lafayette's mind. One that prompted him to reach out and seize Washington's arm as he turned to leave. Washington turned back, face muddled with confusion at the look of hesitant curiosity on Lafayette's face. Lafayette's lips moved silently a moment before he found the words. 

“What of the officers who siphoned the funds?”

Washington exhaled slowly, jaw set sternly, still infuriated at the offending soldiers. Lafayette was frozen in place by the sheer intensity of his stare.

“In my army, a lapse in morals today is faced with death tomorrow.” 

* * *

The map Washington worked from was laid out on a large table, carefully unrolled so that no piece of land would be marred or faded by a crease. His fellow officers crowded around it, moving pieces to represent their troops. Lafayette had been invited to watch on, the excitement of the war room a good compromise to him seeing battle. Though he still wished to fight, he gladly took up any offer Washington might extend. Each opportunity came with his pleasant company, something Lafayette craved as the days went on. Washington too seemed pleased with their friendship, encouraging Lafayette to stand at his side as he and the men planned their next route.

“Will they move south?”

“Reports aren't in yet. Last we heard, Howe’s set sail from Jersey.”

Washington fiddled with a tiny wooden marker. “We need to set up defenses. Howe will want to move in towards Philadelphia.” He looked over the map, eyes studying it carefully. “But  _ how.” _ Lafayette followed Washington's eye as it flickered across the page, looking for some way to anticipate General Howe’s next move. He caught it only a brief second before Washington; the mouth of a river on the North Side of Chesapeake Bay. Lafayette had explored there the year prior, scavenging for coins. They called it the Head of Elk, and with a little march, and determination, Howe could get troops deep into their territory. 

“Do you see what I see, Lafayette?” Washington said, his tone colored with amusement. 

“I see our line of defense.” 

“That you do" 

Washington set a marker down at the head of the river before taking a rod and tracing a stretch of land on the map. “Head of Elk, Chadds Ford, Brandywine. We must line our defenses here. Stop Howe before he marches towards Philadelphia. Keep him from landing at all if we can.” The officers nodded, sharing knowing glances as the countdown to battle began in their minds. They would be on standby, readying themselves for when the ships rolled in. 

“That’ll be all for now. If any new information arises send it to me right away.” The officers began to filter out, grabbing their hats and making small polite chatter as they did so. Lafayette moved to pick up his things, only to have a firm hand grasp his shoulder.

“If you have a moment, dear boy, I've something to share with you.” Washington said. Lafayette felt his heart skip a beat, his notes dropping back to the table in an enthusiastic display of his eagerness to stay behind. And something told him Washington was eager too. His stern features had a glimmer of excitement. The type a father might have as he surprises his children with a new dog, or a toy from the shop. Lafayette rocked on his heels impatiently, wishing the last of the officers would  _ hurry up _ so that he may draw out this delightful surprise. The final officer traipsed out of the tent, eliciting a small chuckle from Washington.

“Now then,” he stood up straight, hands clasped behind his back “some good news.” Lafayette straightened up, mimicking Washington's stance as he awaited the news.

“In the short time I have known you, dear Marquis, you have proven to be a remarkable ally. Insightful, observant, and generous. You've also charmed most of my army, something I seem to be having trouble with these days.” They both let out a small laugh before Washington continued. 

“I told you that joining me at my camp would provide you with more opportunities than your previous post, and I have come to make good on that. It is my honor to promote you, Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, to Major General.” 

Promotion?  _ Promotion!  _ A higher, even more trusted position by Washington’s side. Lafayette sprung up on his toes, throwing his arms around Washington’s neck. His actions, it seemed, were predictable, as Washington unclasped his hands to pull Lafayette into the embrace. He patted Lafayette’s back with a strong hand, accepting hastily placed kisses with more ease than before. 

“I am glad to see you’re pleased--”

“Overjoyed!”

“My dear boy,” Washington pulled away from their embrace, gesturing to two glasses he had set aside. “This is a big responsibility. One I am confident you are quite able to handle. And I couldn't be happier to appoint you.” He poured a small amount of wine into each glass, and offered it for a toast.

“I will not disappoint you, your excellency.” Lafayette babbled, clumsily clinking glasses with his general. Washington raised the glass to his lips, smirking over the rim.

“You’d have to try very hard.” 

* * *

Major General came with its perks. Soldiers straightened up more as he walked by. His signature was needed quite more (something Lafayette was proud to give). And the pressures of the war were starting to shift to his shoulders, as Washington had more than he could carry. It was a deep, aching sense of dread, one that followed Lafayette even as he slept. As reports filtered in that Howe’s ships were sighted along the coast of Delaware, even sleep escaped him. It took all his focus not to let the ink run as he wrote the date at the top of a fresh letter.

_ 11, September 1777 _

Lafayette sighed at the stack of letters by his side, unable to squash the ball of nerves knotting in the pit of his stomach. The reports were vague: Howe driven away from landing in Delaware. Ships found land at Head of Elk. Camp was moved quickly. The number of troops reported were varied, only glimpses as Howe’s forces moved inland. A quick  glance out the window only churned his stomach. Thick white fog. While the men hoped it would burn off in the late summer sun, it had been nothing but a thick blanket of uncertainty the entire morning. Scouts were unable to pin down an accurate number to Howe’s forces, though a  considerable amount had been glimpsed marching towards Chadds Ford. 

“Major General Lafayette.” Washington said, stepping into the small room Lafayette called home. His face was wrought with worry. “Take what correspondence you have, and meet me at the tents. We must ready for battle.”  _ Battle. _ Something Lafayette had never truly seen before. The skirmish on the lake was brutal, but it was a handful of men in a few cheap schooners.  _ This _ was a battle. Lafayette had watched men march from camp, with word that more were marching out as well.  _ Thousands _ of men, each given a rifle and bayonet, and rounds to fill their pockets. Cannons rolled onto carts and dragged out on horses. They still marched from camp, out of sight and into the thick fog that lingered at the edge of the forest. Lafayette gathered the stack, tucking them under his arm and following Washington with haste. 

The atmosphere in the tent was tense, with men shuffling and wringing their hands as they awaited Washington. Lafayette had made it there first, Washington pulled aside by another officer for confirmation on an order. It did not inspire confidence to see a normally boastful crew of officers fret like children in class, but Lafayette understood their concerns. All of their reports had read the same. The scouts could not confirm the exact strength of Howe’s opposing army. Their men were concerned. Either they were marching towards an easy win, or a massacre. 

“Gentlemen.” 

It was astounding how the presence of one man could change a room. Lafayette stood straight, prompting other officers to do the same as Washington parted the flaps of the tent. The worry Lafayette had seen in their host home was locked away, and before him stood a calm and confident commander. 

“We are prepared. Reports say that Howe is taking a direct route to Chadds Ford. We have been waiting for this. Our defenses are strong.” Indeed there was a lot of thought put into defense. Troops had been posted along the stretch of land Washington outlined for two days now. The bulk of the army laid in wait behind Brandywine creek to battle. By the time forces made it to Brandywine, they should be weakened by miles of opposition, and pushed back. 

“Your Excellency, visibility is scarce. Should we be concerned that our scouts are incorrect?” An officer asked. Washington did not meet his gaze, only studied the map on the table. 

“General Howe must march through the same conditions our scouts are working in. It would be safest for him to take a direct route to Chadds Ford in inclement weather. This works for us as much as against us.” He said. Lafayette nodded, causing a ripple of reassurance throughout the tent. Washington held out a hand, silently requesting the stack of letters still tucked beneath Lafayette’s arm. Lafayette handed them off promptly. “I will be monitoring this as it unfolds. For now, you are dismissed. Report to your men, and Godspeed.” 

The men left much quicker this time, no doubt working off the concoction of fear and adrenaline brewing in their bellies. Lafayette could smell the worry on them as they passed him. Creatures in distress. The tent reeked of it. Washington was no different. Though he had expertly locked away the emotion from his face, he could not escape the cold sweat that touched his brow. Lafayette pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and offered it.

“You worry, sir. Is it the reports?” Lafayette asked. Washington took the handkerchief, dabbing at his brow in quiet contemplation.

“Merely the nerves before battle. You never truly shake them.” He mumbled. Despite it still being morning, a finger of whiskey was poured into two glasses, one handed off to Lafayette. “Never fear. It's liquid courage for a reason.” Washington said, sipping it slowly. Lafayette did the same, feeling the burn of it trickle down his throat and warm his chest. It did little to ease the heat rising with the sun, but wonders to his nervous gut. Liquid courage indeed. And, speaking of courage…

“Sir, you have yet to tell me of my post today.” Lafayette said, gripping the glass tighter. Washington looked over, licking a stray drop of whiskey from his lip. 

“Why, it's here. Beside me in the tent to help sort through the reports.” 

Lafayette shifted uneasily on his feet, a sinking feeling in his chest. “I just hoped...perhaps...I would join the men. Rally with them.” He said. His voice sounded small and wavering; a pitiful plea. Washington set the glass aside.

“I cannot have you out there today---”

“But  _ sir _ , I had hoped--”

“As had I. But this is not the time. I need your eye here, where it's most useful.” Washington pushed the map up the table, making room to divide the stack of letters in two. “I know how tempting it is to rush headlong into battle. You are young still, and this war is far from over. Do not rush it.” Lafayette pulled up a chair, resigning to sit and sift through the reports with a soft ‘ _ yes sir’.  _ Washington pulled beside him, his leg brushing against Lafayette’s. He could feel Washington look over him, gauging his disappointment silently. 

“Come now, there's no need to pout. With any luck this battle will be quick, and you'd have missed it before you caught up on your horse.” Lafayette nodded, and opened the first letter.

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Men make errors. Whether it be a scout on the trail, or the commander of an army, little things slip through the cracks. And like tributaries feeding a river, mistakes roll and pull until they are a coursing current ready to sweep victory off its feet. 

The first report to rush into camp stated the number of troops marching towards Chadds Ford. It had been manageable, and fighting had already begun to break out on the trail as the British army encountered Washington’s first line of defense. Lafayette stood beside Washington, leaning close to his shoulder to read the letter with him.

“So far nothing of great concern. We planned for this.” Washington said. Planned for it. Waited for it. It didn't matter. Men were as careless as they were careful, and under pressure, with no sleep, and little time to occupy the mind with matters other than war, a crack had formed.  _ Two unguarded fords.  _ Lafayette could hear the frantic flutter of a heartbeat before the smell of sweat and fear hit him.

“General Washington!” 

The courier was hysterical, caked in mud and blood not his own. He paid little attention to the late lunch sitting idle on the table between Washington and Lafayette, throwing a crumpled soiled letter towards them. It narrowly missed landing in Lafayette’s plate of baked chicken, and Washington pinched it between his thumb and forefinger with caution. 

“What have you seen?” Washington asked. He unfolded the letter quickly, eyes skimming the page. The courier struggled to speak, and Lafayette felt suspended in between. Both men had received news...and not the good kind. “ _ How?” _ Washington hissed. The page trembled in his hands. The courier swallowed thickly.

“The march to Chadds Ford, it wasn't the bulk of Howe’s forces. They slipped by us in the fog. Took the back roads and…” the courier balled his fists nervously. “...and found two forgotten fords. They've crossed Brandywine Creek, and as of now reign terror on our army. Our right flank was wide open.” 

Lafayette felt his heart falter. Their defenses were meant to weaken the army before its arrival at Brandywine. Yet now…

“Call in who you can. I want all word on this immediately. Whose regiment is bearing the brunt of the attack?” Washington lifted himself from his seat, pulling the map close to him. Lafayette quickly pushed their plates aside to make room. 

“Stirling, sir.” 

“Fetch who you can,  _ now.” _

The courier scurried off, and Lafayette rose to catch Washington's arm. “Sir,” Lafayette said “let me do this. Let me fight.” It wasn't as though it was a fair fight. Lafayette was a predator. Land or sea, he had keen senses, and sharp reflexes. He could load his rifle faster than any man in his regiment, and feel shifts in his surroundings before humans could. To keep him here in a tent was asinine. Washington, however, did not seem to share that thought. He clenched his jaw, returning his gaze to the faded map. 

“Under no circumstances are you to fight, Lafayette.”

“But  _ sir--” _

“ _ None.”  _ Washington’s tone was sharp, and Lafayette recoiled from him ever so slightly. Washington gripped the lip of the table tightly, hands shaking. “A grievous error has been made, but I can't...I can't see  _ how _ we overlooked this. We’ll be lucky if we hold them off enough for a sound retreat. I cannot risk further embarrassment to this army by carelessly tossing you there as well.” Lafayette stepped closer, hoping once more to sway Washington. 

“It would not be  _ careless _ , Your Excellency. I have learned well. I can rally the men and help push back--”

“No. Absolutely not.” Washington snapped. It was coarse and cold, something he had never been towards Lafayette before. The stench of fear burned Lafayette’s nose as the sound of footsteps thundered towards their tent. Soon there would be so much fear that he would not be able to tell Washington from the men around him. Lafayette let out a shaky breath, holding back tears.

The first few men fell through the tent flaps ungracefully, looking to Washington for their next move. Then a few more, and more still, until the tent was full of officers bumping and trading papers. Reports and statistics, wadded and shoved onto the table. Lafayette was muscled out of his place at Washington’s side by a man reporting that Stirling’s division would soon crumble. Commands were scribbled to hand off to Greene in the field. Lafayette felt alone in a room full of people. Forgotten by Washington as more pressing matters came pouring through their tent. 

Alone...forgotten... _unsupervised,_

_ Oh. _

Lafayette took one last look around, satisfied that Washington was preoccupied by his officers, before backing towards the tent flaps. He pulled back the canvas, spying the commotion outside. Some men leaving camp, getting first orders out to the men in the field. If he ran to the stables to get his mare he might take too long and be stopped before he left camp. However, if he left now, and found transport along the way, he could be headed to battle before Washington noticed he was gone.

He took his chances, slipping silently from the tent under the guise of holding it open for another officer. The tent flap swung shut behind him, and Lafayette walked briskly towards the edge of camp. A few couriers were mounting their horses, and Lafayette singled out one that looked near ready to leave.

“You there, sir!” He said, trotting up to the courier before he had the chance to nudge his horse. “To what officer are you carrying orders?” The courier shifted in his saddle to look down at Lafayette. 

“Sullivan, Major General.” 

Lafayette motioned to the reins the man clutched. “I will be taking your place, then.” The courier’s face screwed with confusion, glancing around to see if another officer could confirm.

“Sir, I am riding into a massacre to deliver a letter--”

“And there are other letters being handed off as we speak. I have orders from Washington to ride and rally. You may go to the stables and take my mare if you wish, but I need to ride out immediately.” Lafayette said. He stretched out his hand, beckoning the courier to dismount. “I would not trouble you so unless it was of grave importance.” The courier’s mouth pinched into an uncertain frown, but he dismounted. A letter was pushed into Lafayette's hands.

“This must be delivered. I will not make it if you take my horse.” Lafayette tucked the letter into his jacket, and pulled himself up onto the horse. It shuffled impatiently under him, and Lafayette had to steady himself in the saddle. 

“It will be delivered. I thank you for this.” 

The horse thundered off, and camp soon gave way to rolling woods. Branches zipped, causing Lafayette to hunch over his horse, lest he be knocked to the ground by an overgrown tree. He didn't need much to find his way. He had studied the map with Washington, knew which roads led where. If that were not enough, there was a stench that wafted in on the breeze. It was unlike anything he had ever smelled before. Bodies, fear, blood, gunpowder. It smelled horrid. Thousands of men fighting in the hot September sun. It assaulted his senses, clinging to his clothes and hair. Fresh air was long forgotten as he came upon the battle that had his camp in a tizzy.

This was  _ nothing  _ like he expected.

The first thing Lafayette noticed were the bodies. Continental blues stained dark with blood, strewn across the field.Men turning to reload, only to fall lifeless to the ground. Men picking up their guns and finishing the job. The next was the sound of gunfire, and men shouting. A surge of red coated men advancing, rising like a wave over the field, ready to crash down and dash the Continental army across the rocks. They had taken a beating already, their front line now thin and patchy. 

Lafayette dropped from his horse, handing the reins to a courier he spotted looking for a way to send message back to camp. He would not need his horse. He would fare better on his own two feet, with a bayonet in his hand. But first, Sullivan. It took a few hectic minutes of scrambling before Lafayette could make him out, and get close enough to be heard amongst the cannon fire. 

“Sir! Urgent news from General Washington!” Lafayette said, handing the letter off to him. Sullivan raised a brow, taking the letter and unfolding it.

“We must really be in trouble if Washington is sending you instead of a courier. I've come to think we haven't enough messengers to report on this disaster.” He said, his eyes scanning the page. “It's as I hoped. Retreat. Best to cut our losses now.” Lafayette’s nose crinkled with distaste. 

“ _ Retreat? _ How can we turn and run from this?” He spat, gesturing towards the field. Sullivan nodded to a few officers, whom immediately spread word of retreat. Lafayette balled his fists, not allowing Sullivan to leave without an answer. 

“Major General Lafayette,  _ look around. _ Our flank was wide open. We have been decimated. Hundreds lost or wounded. Washington has damned us in this battle, and the only wise decision is retreat. We retreat, and these men live to fight another battle. We stay, and we accept a defeat so crippling that we may never recover.” Lafayette felt his blood boil as Stirling mounted his horse. “The order is retreat. It is wise you grab a horse and do so.” 

Lafayette glanced across the field, towards the battle unfolding around the creek that ran through it. Men running and stumbling over themselves at the sound of retreat. Men who stayed to fire off a few last shots. The order had just been sounded. Perhaps if they saw an officer run in, stand their ground, others would follow. Rally together as only this tiny army could do. Lafayette hardly heard Stirling about after him and he ran into the fray headlong. 

Finding arms was simple, and a rifle was picked off a corpse in minutes. He could find munitions too, though it seemed to be a common thought, and most of the corpses he turned over were picked clean of anything useful. It was his fifteenth or twentieth body that produced a yield, with a few rounds tucked in a forgotten pocket. Lafayette loaded his gun sloppily, painfully aware that his hands were shaking uncontrollably. This was not camp, where he and his men would practice in the safety of their own. This was war, and Lafayette felt his accuracy drop by half as his nerves stole his marksmanship. 

Lafayette trained his eyes on a red coat soldier on the front line. His first ever shot at a human, a target he should have hit by yards, missed. It whizzed past the red coat and hit a tree, splintering the bark. Reloading was accompanied by a string of curses, and the sound of bullets whipping past him. Gunpowder spilled on his hands, and everything smelled of blood. Taking a deep breath, Lafayette raised his rifle. The red coat soldier still stood, and he aimed carefully. This time, there was a hit--though not the one Lafayette had hoped. He had aimed for the man’s heart, hoping to kill him instantly. But fate would have it that his round found the soldier’s gut. A matching crimson stain bloomed on the front of the red coat’s uniform, his hands clutching over it. He was dragged away by his men, but Lafayette knew better. He had seen men come back from battle. A shot to the gut was rarely cured. The man would die...slowly. Lafayette prayed the next shot would spare its victim that. 

Getting up and running further into the battle, Lafayette snagged the arm of a young man who had turned to head back to the trees. “Where are you going?” He asked. The soldier was bleeding from his side, hand tucked under his arm as he blinked back tears.

“Retreat, sir. We cannot stay here.”

“But I've only just gotten here!”

“Then count yourself blessed, sir, this is a nightmare.” The soldier doubled over in pain, falling into Lafayette’s arms. He was young, younger than how Lafayette appeared to men. And that meant every second he spent on his field robbed his chances at the rest of his life. This poor young man could barely stand, let alone retreat. He would die out here in this field. Lafayette took a deep breath and pulled the man close.

“Come, I shall help you out of here.”

The man still had some life in him, and Lafayette helped steady his stumbling steps as they raced for the treeline. Men were at the ready, with carts for the wounded and men able to carry more on their shoulder. The carts were already crowded with the injured and dying, and Lafayette was forced to hand the man off to a soldier who would walk him back to camp. The “well” soldier wasn't faring any better, and Lafayette felt guilt twist in his gut. Retreat  _ was _ the wiser option, lest Lafayette wish to doom more of these men. 

By now word of retreat was widespread, causing men to run towards the trees in waves. Lafayette ducked between them, helping injured men avoid death by trampling, and handing them off to better soldiers. Down by the creek, soldiers loaded their arms with the weapons of their dead comrades, under orders to leave no supplies behind. Lafayette waded across the creek, carefully avoiding the bodies lying face down in the shallow water.

“The cannons! We must remove them!” He shouted, waving towards the line of cannons in the distance. A soldier rushed past him, three rifles in hand.

“We have no choice but to leave them, sir! Bloody backs shot our artillery horses! Not one left to pull the carts.” Lafayette swore under his breath, turning to face the trees.

“Then we must ask fo--” 

A searing, horrible pain ripped through Lafayette’s leg, and the soldier beside him dropped his guns to catch him as he fell towards the ground. Glancing back, Lafayette spied a thick red bloom on the leg of his breeches, spreading. Standing was agony, and what little control Lafayette had over the pain of land legs was forgotten. The soldier beside him pulled at his jacket.

“You need to retreat!” He cried, righting Lafayette onto his aching legs. “Now!”

Lafayette motioned to the guns strewn on the wet ground, which the soldier picked up with haste. Lafayette also grabbed a few, refusing to turn and leave empty handed. “Quickly!” He said, hobbling as fast as his bleeding leg would allow. Each step was met with the excruciating sensation of needles on the soles of his feet, and a sharp blinding pain from beneath the blood soaked breeches. Lafayette's breath was ragged, heart racing so fast he thought it would burst. Yet the worst part of retreat was crossing the creek. That cold, welcoming water splashing up against his legs. Coaxing him with promises of relief. The water heals all. And he, a merfolk on human legs, would give anything to collapse into its welcoming embrace. 

It caused a thrumming in his bones, his legs weighed down with every stride, every stumble. With his tail he'd be graceful. A predator unlike any of these men had seen. His wound would close and his pains dissolve. Black spots appeared in his vision as he neared the opposite bank. He was certain he had dropped a gun along the way. And then there was a hand on him. And then darkness.

* * *

Lafayette's senses returned to him as he was propped against a tree, a soldier tying a tourniquet around his wounded leg. He recognized it as his sash, and internally frowned at such a lovely thing being used to sop up his mess. His mind was in a fog, still clouded by pain and overstimulation from battle, but able to pick out a few choice words as they happened.

“General Washington! He's here, sir!” There were hoofbeats, and the sound of an argument as Lafayette was hoisted up onto a horse. The world began to rattle and speed by him in a dizzying display. The smell of battle began to grow fainter, though it was permanently stuck to his clothes. Clothes that were soon being pulled from him as Washington’s voice cut clear through his mind.

“Treat him as if he were my son.”

The room began to come back to him, the quiet of the medical tent just as stifling as the heat. It was a plain canvas tent, empty except for him. A private tent intended for Washington. A large tub was filled with cool water, sitting idly not far from the exam table.He expected nothing less than excellent care if Washington had brought him here. Looking down, Lafayette noted he had been stripped of his things, and the doctor sat beside him, prodding at his wound. 

“You were lucky. The bullet went clean through. I've cleaned you out for infection.” The news sounded good, however, the doctor’s eyes did not leave the wound. It caused his stomach to churn uneasily. The doctor took a scalpel, poking at the tender flesh inside the wound curiously. Lafayette cleared his throat.

“That is good news, yes? I will be able to fight again?” The doctor kept probing the wound, prying a little deeper into the hole. Lafayette hissed in pain, causing the man to look up and process what Lafayette had asked.

“Oh, yes, of course. With a little rest you should be on your feet again.” He said it hesitantly, and Lafayette could see there was concern in his eyes. “I must share the news with General Washington. Excuse me” 

Lafayette sat up on the table, gut coiling in fear. Why would the man lie? Would he not walk again? And if so...could he never swim again? He had seen merfolk whose tails were maimed. They struggled to hunt, and were often first to be picked off by opportunistic predators. He had just barely reached maturity as well, and a damaged tail would thwart any chance of living out his full life in the sea. He strained his ears to listen as the doctor spoke to Washington outside the tent. 

“How is he?” Washington asked. His voice trembled just slightly. The doctor took a shaky breath.

“By some miracle the bullet went clean through. It did not shatter, nor infect the leg.” Washington let out a breath, and thanked God. “ _ However, _ I noticed an oddity with the Marquis.” Washington paused, and Lafayette felt his blood run cold.

“An oddity?”

“His bones, your excellency. While I was cleaning the wound I noticed what looked like fragments of bone. I had feared that it was splintered, and unattended would cause infection and maybe even cause for amputation. But upon closer look I discovered….” he trailed off, unsure how to continue. Washington pressed him.

“Discovered  _ what, _ doctor?”

There was nervous shifting, and Lafayette heard Washington's boot tap the ground impatiently. “His bones are frayed. Not just at the site; from my examination I have cause to believe they go down the leg. Like a fish tail stuffed into the leg of a man.” Washington’s breath hitched as the doctor broke the news. “He isn't  _ human _ , sir.” 

Lafayette began to search the room for an exit, frantically searching his memory for the nearest river, or creek. Something he can fling himself into and disappear once these men turned on him. Outside the tent, Washington’s voice was a hiss.

“That's  _ preposterous!  _ He is a man. Flesh and blood as you or  _ I _ , not some fisherman’s mirage.” Lafayette spied a loosely laced flap at the back of the tent, and tried to wriggle off the table. It proved to be harder than he thought, as his wound was still gaping, and his legs felt like fire. He choked back a sob, rocking back onto the table in pain. He could not flee.  _ He could not flee. _

“General Washington, I would not risk my standing as your doctor if I was not completely certain. Come inside and take a look, but we must act quickly. In my exploration I was fighting back new tissue that had begun to seal the wound. Only another oddity that proves my point.” 

The tent flaps rustled, Washington stepping through it briskly. His jaw was set, eyes cold. Lafayette pulled a linen across his lap to hide his nakedness, hoping his feigned modesty would buy him time. “Your Excellency, I am indecent.” He stammered. 

“This will only take a moment. I apologize, Lafayette.” 

The doctor pulled back the linen, revealing only the wound on his leg. While blood oozed from it, it did not look as though it would bleed out of uncovered. He then took the scalpel and scraped away a thin layer of tissue that had begun to stretch over the bone. Though Lafayette himself couldn't see it, Washington could, and something akin to fear flickered in his eyes. The doctor continued to scrap, revealing more of these frayed bones he claimed Lafayette had. Thin, flexible bones of a fish, crammed into his human legs. No one was ever supposed to see.

“ _ S-sir?”  _

All at once, Washington made his move, scooping Lafayette up into his arms. Lafayette yelped in pain, clutching the sheet to him as he was removed from the table, a string of pleas dropping from his lips. “Your excellency, whatever it is I can still  _ fight! _ Please, do not send me away! I don't know what it is you're looking for!” Washington strode over to the tub, the water rippling from the way the ground shook beneath him. “I can wash myself, sir, there is no need--”

“I just need to make sure.” 

Lafayette felt the support under him give way, and he splashed loudly into the tub. The cold water was a shock, and Lafayette closed his eyes as he slipped below the water. The fire in his legs was put out, but the thrumming had returned, this time more powerful than before. So powerful that the deep tub suddenly felt too small for him. Lafayette surfaced, coughing and sputtering. He opened his eyes, and his heart stopped.

His fins. 

Those long, pearlescent fins poking from the water. Cold, ashamed, and discovered, Lafayette curled his fins towards his chest to protect himself. His fins felt slippery and foreign, so out of place in the tub sitting in the middle of a human camp. He felt on display, gawked at. A freak. 

Washington stood at the edge of the tub, color drained from his face. It was a  look of abject horror, and it made Lafayette feel sick. For a moment nothing could be heard but the sound of water dripping to the floor, and Lafayette’s ragged breathing. Washington’s lips moved silently before he found his thoughts.

“ _ My God.”  _


	8. Truths

For a long while there was nothing but the steady sound of water dripping to the floor. Water, muddied and murky from his skin, trailing off the fins too big to hide in the confines of the tub. Hitting the floor with such hard paps it thundered like gunfire in Lafayette's ears. Words only returned as the doctor shifted his heels.

“Doctor, I insist you wait outside.” Washington’s tone was biting, almost near breathlessness. His face had not returned to color, and its blanched horror stirred fear in Lafayette’s gut. Horrible things happened to merfolk on land at the hands of men. If Washington were a merciful man, he would be cut down quickly, as a butcher would do. If he were crueler, in its most curious sense, his suffering would be great. Flayed alive and put on display. Or halved like a fish at market, saber instead of cleaver in hand. The doctor left the room, as did Lafayette’s hopes.

“P-please--”

“Who sent you.”

The question struck him odd. Not ‘ _ What are you’  _ or ‘ _ What do you want’ _ , but something that sent a chill down Lafayette’s spine. Washington’s first and foremost concern was treason, and Lafayette had slim human references to prove his devotion. Washington pulled up a stool, his fear now ebbing as he slipped into his role as unyielding General. 

“I'll ask again. Who sent you?” His tone was low, but pricked with rage that made Lafayette's find tremble against his chest. He smoothed them out against his skin, helplessly trying to self soothe as he was stared down by a man he wished only to befriend. 

“No one, Your Excellency. I come of my own free will.” His voice trembled terribly, but Washington didn't waiver. With that square jaw set he looked the model of composure. Lafayette licked his lips dryly, tears welling up in his eyes. “No one sent me, I promise you.” Washington looked him over, his gaze dragging across Lafayette's features, studying trembling lips and shaking fins as closely as a book. When he spoke again it fell upon Lafayette's ears as a low, tempered rumble.

“I have heard of your kind, if only in legend told by those born near the sea. You are not  _ benevolent  _ creatures. In fact, the appearance of a mermaid is said to cause madness among sailors and doom their voyage. Forgive me for not finding comfort in the fact that you have surfaced  _ here _ in  _ my army _ of your own free will.” He paused, facade cracking from its stern expression as Lafayette flinched in the tub. Perhaps it was the pull merfolk had on humans, or the great fondness Washington had shown him until five minutes ago, but he looked remorseful. Saddened like a father watching their child recoil from them. Lafayette’s breath rattled in his chest. 

“I am no different than the man you met, dear General. I have not come to tempt or to destroy. I have come because…” his voice cracked traitorously as he struggled to hold Washington's stare. “Because….” 

Why? For freedom? Freedom from the sea, at the price of blinding pain in his feet. For liberty? Liberty to those on land who have extended their kindness towards him. For Washington? A king to the common man, removed from all royal frivolities. A man who moved him to shed his fins and walk miles until his feet were blistered. 

They all rose in his throat, each clawing their way to his lips but stopped short. Lafayette’s breath hitched and fell as words escaped him, becoming more frantic as the silence dragged on. His shoulders shook, and fat blubbering tears rolled down his cheeks. The words  _ would not come _ . The pain, the shame, they all came full force but the words he needed to convince this man that he was genuine and  _ good _ were lost to him. The bath water rippled under his shuddering fins, splashing water over the already overfilled tub and onto Washington’s boots. This was  _ it _ . He would be killed, or dissected, or---

A noise cut through the silence, strangled and mournful. But it did not come from Lafayette's throat. Amongst the quick breathing and blubbering, Washington's resolve had cracked. His head lay in his hands, and Lafayette could hear a soft sniffle. 

“I have made a grievous error.” He said, his own voice giving in to the shakes. “I placed too much stock in foreign men, believing what was in my hands rather than what my suspicious heart urged otherwise.” Washington straightened up in his seat, wiping glistening tears off his cheeks with a broad swipe of his hand. “You are not the French aristocrat you claimed to be. And I was a fool to think that your being here was...a  _ sign _ .” 

Lafayette let go of his fins, pulling close to the edge of the tub. He peeked over the metal lip curiously, studying Washington. The tears were real; his eyes rimmed red and dewy as he tried so desperately to regain his composure. But the tears had created a fissure in Washington's facade, cracking deeper with each uneasy breath. He was the soul Lafayette had been drawn to that night by the river. A tender, headstrong thing with a penchant for heartbreak. And Lafayette's little white lie had cut Washington to his core. But there is always a thread of truth to a lie, and perhaps their bond could be salvaged.  Lafayette drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the edge of the tub, blinking away the last of his tears.

“My friend, the money is very real. I have dredged every shipwreck along the coasts of your colonies, so far as miles into the sea. Your funds are secure, as no man could ever live where I have stored them. Ask me to fetch them and I will--”

“It is not the money.” Washington sighed. “Rather, it is what your money represented.  _ French _ aid. It was important that our former king see we have the allegiance and interest of his greatest opponent. One whose kingdom is so very close to his, instead of an ocean away.” Lafayette picked at the skin of his thumb, dejection setting in. 

“Is my money no good?” 

Washington’s mouth pinched into a frown as he tried to put it plainly. “Your money may very well save this army.” Lafayette perked up, but was stopped by one of Washington's raised hands. 

“ _ However,  _ the means by which you procured it play to our weaknesses. King George wishes to paint us as thieves and scavengers. Men refuse to do business with us simply because our reputation is tarnished. In the time you have known me you have seen how strict and severe the crime of thievery is punished. That I can control. But if word leaks out that you have been plundering the watery tombs of the Atlantic, stealing gold from lost sailors, the public backlash could ruin us. Your deception has left us open to our enemies. You have no clout, no title---”

“I have a title.” 

Washington faltered. “A title you used to gain access to my army.” He corrected. Lafayette shook his head, earning another screwed look of confusion. 

“A title bestowed upon me by King Louis, after he baptized me with my full human Christian name.” Lafayette said. “I am a Marquis by all rights; that I did not lie about. My standing in court is…. _ floundering _ , but I am on good terms with the King.” 

Washington looked him over carefully as if trying to read a lie on his face. The suspicion was well deserved; Lafayette had lied before. But this was the plain truth, and it was written across his face. The only thing Lafayette had to hide were his fins, and that was no longer a secret. Washington pulled his stool closer to the tub, boots smacking the puddles pooled beneath it. 

“You have a direct relationship with King Louis?” He said skeptically. Lafayette grinned, very much aware that the smile he flashed was toothier than what Washington was used to. 

“Little boys with bellies full of sweets sink in water. King Louis owes me a  _ very big favor.” _

Lafayette could hear Washington's pulse tick, hairs standing on the back of his neck as the weight of their situation set in. The man wasn’t frightened  _ per say,  _ but his body gave him away. Tiny erratic flutters in Washington's heart and stomach that made Lafayette's skin tingle. It wasn't  _ distress _ it was  _ awe.  _ A paralyzing, aching adoration that terrified as much as it mystified. And Lafayette was at the center of it. Oh, this could not be more delicious if he tried. Humans were so moving, so very very moving. 

Washington rubbed a hand over his face, trying to scrub the look of awe from it. 

“I can go to him--to the King, if you so please. Plead our case and secure proper aid under an alliance.” Lafayette offered. Washington sighed deeply, concern returning to him.

“It is not the time. We have suffered a crushing defeat. It will take time before we can prove ourselves once more in the eyes of Versailles. But, my dear Lafayette, I look forward to the day I can call upon you for this most joyous favor.” A faint smile crossed his lips, and Lafayette's heart soared.

“Does this mean I am to stay here by your side, dear General? You would have a fish like me, an omen of misfortune, as your confidant?” Lafayette asked. His voice was meek and hopeful, and as he stared up into Washington's eyes he felt the man melt completely. Washington leaned forward, graceful even for his large stature, and placed a tender kiss upon each of Lafayette's cheeks. It was soft and inviting, and Lafayette felt himself push up out of the tub to chase the last lingering brush of his lips. 

“Only if you would do me the honor of acquainting me with the true Lafayette.” Washington whispered. Lafayette smiled up at him, noting the pink tinge coloring his cheeks. The poor thing was embarrassed; perhaps unsure that he had been too forward with his affections. It suited him. That touch of shyness that softened his stern reputation. It was breathtaking in its own humble way. 

“You may have all of me for the cause, Your Excellency.” Lafayette chirped, pulling himself out. It wasn't an easy feat, tail splashing and churning the bath frantically as he tried to hop free of the metal tub. When he did his legs separated once more and the fresh aching wound split. Lafayette cried out, the pain returning tenfold, and stumbled forward. He collided with a thud against Washington's chest, letting out a loud  _ oomph _ as  his fingers gripped tight at the lapels of his coat. 

“ _ Here,  _ dear boy--” Washington croaked, working quickly to undo his cloak and drape it over Lafayette’s bare form. Humans were modest creatures the likes of which Lafayette would never comprehend, but he was grateful to be swathed in the warmth of the cloak. He pulled it tightly around himself until his nakedness no longer caused Washington's cheeks to stain dark red. 

“Perhaps first we call in the doctor about your wound.”

* * *

Word of an enlisted mermaid spread through camp like wildfire. From his stiff cot in the medical tent Lafayette could hear the whispering. It was hushed and low, stopping a mere ten feet from his tent as curious soldiers marched by to take a peek at the fish on land. For the most part they looked disappointed, for laid out in bed Lafayette looked like any other wounded man. His leg had been bandaged up, and set on a pile of wadded sheets. He had been redressed in a fresh shirt and breeches, Washington's cloak still draped across his body snugly. To any wandering eyes he was just a boy, hurt and alone. 

“It's not a mermaid.” Lafayette heard a voice whisper harshly. “It's got legs.” Another man scoffed quietly.

“Well of course it's got legs, half wit. How else is it going to fight on land?” Lafayette saw the curtains rustle slightly, no doubt the men stealing another quick peek. “The doctor said he saw it with his own eyes. Washington dropped it in the tub and it sprouted a tail. It's got fins--”

“It also has ears, sir.” Lafayette called out, watching the rustling flap freeze. “And a willingness to share in exchange for some rest.” Through the canvas Lafayette could swore he heard the embarrassed mumblings of an apology, and the shuffling sound of feet. 

His true form had sparked a lot of attention, but none that Lafayette treasured more deeply than that of Washington's. Though matters were pressing elsewhere, he often lingered around the tent to check on Lafayette. He would examine the bandages, which were rapidly becoming unnecessary. The sticky clear film that had begun to plaster the wound shut caused some alarm, as humans were not familiar with the way their mythical counterparts healed from injury. Lafayette quickly found that his medical well being was in his own hands, as the doctors looked on him with horror or morbid curiosity. And for the most part the wound was manageable. There was, however, one thing that worried Lafayette; his tail. 

The round shot through at his human calf , leaving an aching hole in his flesh. But once a night he was drawn a cool bath in order to check on the progress of his tail. The tail, to his dismay, displayed signs of a more serious injury. The wound would heal, that was a given. The clear film his doctors were so afraid of was doing its job in fusing the raw pinkish flesh back into place. The wound itches terribly as new scales started to form around its scanning edges.

The problem laid in mobility of his tail. While being submerged in waster sped the healing process, Lafayette could not know the damage until he was able to swim. Regular swimming kept a wounded tail from becoming withered or lame. His fears began to mount, having seen too many of his own kind develop fin rot or dead tail due to neglect. The fear began to eat at him, causing him to nitpick his scanning tail as the days went on. The shift in Lafayette's otherwise cheery disposition must have alerted the doctors, for Washington came to visit him that night immediately. 

“Dear boy, the doctors have noticed you are not quite yourself. Are you alright?” He said, kneeling before the tub. Lafayette splashed pitifully at the water in an attempt to hide the fact that he had been picking at his wound. 

“Your Excellency has given me his utmost care, and for that I am grateful. But I am afraid...I am afraid---” Nothing else would follow.  _ I am afraid _ was enough, and Lafayette found himself bursting into tears. It startled Washington, who tried his near hardest to calm the little mermaid long enough to make out the words in his blubbering.

“My darling boy, what ails you? Do you require more baths? Salt of the sea?” He paused, as though afraid to ask his next question. “Must you leave us?” Lafayette sobbed harder, leaning hard against the side of the tub to rest his head on Washington’s shoulder. He did not want to leave, but he also could not risk ignoring his tail only to find it useless after the war. Washington's shirt grew damp with tears. 

“It is my  _ tail! _ All cramped in this little tub! I cannot move it freely, and what if it no longer  _ moves--”  _ gross hiccuping sobs wracked him once more, and Lafayette had no comfort but to bury his face in the chest of the man he so adored. He needed more than this tub. A bath was stagnant. Moving water was  _ life.  _ A river, an ocean, even a lake was in constant motion. Things thrived there, healed there. He needed to feel the pulse of a current more desperately than he needed anything else. 

Washington brought a hand to Lafayette's cheek, dutifully brushing away the tears rolling down.

“I must apologize, Lafayette, I believe your discomfort is solely my fault. Your friendship is so dear to me that the thought of your wound infecting has blinded me. You are a hardy creature, much stronger than any of us. But to me you look a young boy, barely even his own man yet. I may have let that cloud my judgement; as fathers are prone to do. Forgive me, and I will grant you anything you need for a speedy and proper recovery.” A hand found its way to Lafayette's hair, stroking his slightly damp curls. It was firm and reassuring, and Lafayette felt his sobs quell to hiccup. 

“I need a river, Your Excellency. Even a creek will do. I need to swim and strengthen my tail.” Lafayette mumbled. He could not move himself from Washington's chest, though he felt badly about the growing stain he left on his shirt. Washington hummed thoughtfully before tilting Lafayette's face up towards him.

“Then we shall get you to one tomorrow. I'll accompany you, as will my personal guards, until we can be certain you are in peak condition.” Washington said. The promise of a real body of water was enough to make Lafayette's heart soar. He adored land, but his home was in the water. And after so many weeks of hiding his fins, and wrapping himself in constrictive human garments, he was oh so ready to feel the sun on his skin.

“Thank you, sir.” Lafayette said. His chin was still cradled in Washington's hand. It was so warm. Lafayette imagined all humans were, but nothing was like basking in the warmth of Washington’s hand. In the sea his warmth came from long days basking on sunny rocks. But Lafayette had to share the sun with all the world. This was a something all his own. 

And it was fleeting. Washington's hand withdrew, causing an awful stone of disappointment to drop into Lafayette's belly. It must have read clear on his face, for Washington's lips turned up in the barest hint of a smile. 

“No pouting, your swim must wait until tomorrow.” Oh yes. The swim. Lafayette smiled sweetly as Washington offered him a hand out of the tub. A robe was made ready, Washington’s face politely turned away as he stepped into it and wrapped it tightly around him. Something must be done about that modesty. 

Perhaps tomorrow. 

* * *

Lafayette could feel the heat of the day bearing down on his tent before his eyes even opened. He was assured it would be one of the last hot days, as the temperatures on land had begun to dip in the early evenings. Until then he took solace in the fact that he would not have to wear his stuffy clothes all day. Today he was promised a river. 

The morning slipped by quickly, with the doctor unwrapping his wounded leg to examine it. It was tender and pink, with scar tissue raised in tiny peaks. The doctor ran his thumb over the scar, asking Lafayette some questions. Did it hurt? Is the coloring normal for a mermaid? Has it been healing evenly? Lafayette tapped his toes impatiently, hoping that this long list of questions would end with his escort to the river. Unfortunately it did not. The doctor left, his report in hand, and did not return with news. 

Lunch was brought to him later, though Lafayette had hoped he would be allowed to fish in the river. As delicious as human food was, Lafayette missed fatty wriggling fish. He had not found words delicate enough to explain to Washington that humans cooked fish so abhorrently that it made his stomach turn. He thought it wouldn't matter much anymore. Regular access to rivers meant he could catch his fill, and politely turn down human dishes without worry. But as noon slipped by Lafayette began to worry that his request would not be granted. Until the curtain moved, that is.  
  


Oh joyous sight! Lafayette quickly sat up in bed as Washington entered his tent. The man looked pleased, and the worry of losing his swim melted away. 

“It took a little longer than I had hoped, but we found a section of river that is nice and secluded. The current is not too strong, nor have there been any signs of enemy forces through there. I believe it is quite safe for you to go for your swim.” He said confidently. Lafayette was touched. A section of water was all he asked, and yet Washington had gone through painstaking detail to ensure it was the right place for him. He had hardly given thought to currents or enemies. How lucky he was to have such a thoughtful companion. 

“Does that mean we will be leaving now?” Lafayette inquired. He was much too eager for a response, his hands already reaching to pull himself off the cot. Washington hurried over to him in a few strides. Two strong hands seized Lafayette by the waist, helping him up. 

“Yes, dear boy. The horses are readied.” Lafayette blanched.  _ Horses.  _ His leg still throbbed terribly, and his knees felt weak from disuse. There was no way he could mount his horse without making an utter fool of himself. He could barely do it when he was well. Lafayette fiddled with his jacket as Washington helped him towards the exit. 

“I do not know if I can ride…” Lafayette said, disappointed. “My leg is still quite bad.” Washington hummed, pausing at the tent flaps. He adjusted the arm guiding Lafayette as he thought. 

“You may ride with me, if you can. Otherwise, we’d need an additional day to scout for a path to the river by carriage.” His brow knit with concern, but Lafayette was no longer worried.

“I shall ride with you!” He exclaimed, all too happy to be close to Washington. “I would feel much more secure with his Excellency at the reins. You are a superb rider compared to me.” He laughed sweetly, drawing out a small chuckle from Washington as well.

“You ride well for a creature who taught himself but a few weeks ago.” The praise brought a blush to Lafayette's cheeks, staining them pink as he was guided out of the tent. The horses had been brought up, two guards waiting alongside in their own mounts. Though they tried their hardest to play it calmly, Lafayette could tell they were eager to watch him swim, as they looked him over with curious delight. The horses couldn't be closer, as the forgotten stabbing pain in Lafayette's soles returned full force. He winced, gaining Washington's attention.

“Lieutenant, the Marquis will need help mounting onto my horse. I am much too concerned to let him ride by himself.” With a few  _ yes sirs _ the second empty horse was led away, and Washington hopped into the saddle. A man offered Lafayette a boost, cupping his hands to help push him up towards the saddle. Luckily he was able to grab ahold and swing his good leg over on the first try. The last thing Lafayette needed was to draw attention to himself by foundering around like a fool. People would laugh, call him a flailing fish. Lafayette pushed the ghosts of Versailles from his mind as he settled in, body pressed close to Washington. The smell of sandalwood filled his nose. 

The horse trotted off, the two guards flanking them as they headed towards the river. The path was bumpier than Lafayette would have liked, causing his leg to bounce terribly. After the third or fourth wince, Washington spoke up. “Not much farther, Lafayette, but the path gets rocky. Hold tight.” There was no need to ask twice, as Lafayette seized the opportunity to wrap his arms tight around Washington's middle. The man stiffened, if only for a moment, before accepting this new position. Lafayette always had a way with breaking boundaries, and with his newly reveal identity Washington seemed to put together the pieces in his overly affectionate mannerisms. 

Lafayette was about to apologize for startling him when he heard something he had long wished for; running water. A gentle river cutting through a wood, tinkling softly in his ears. Lafayette pulled his face from its place between Washington's shoulder blades and saw the spot that had been chosen for him. It was beautiful. Tall trees still thick with leaves, though their tips turned gold in sun. Birds calling from the treetops, rustling and diving into the long grass that lined the river bank. A slow moving river rippled with the movement of fish. Oh thank heavens,  _ fish.  _

“It is absolutely beautiful.” Lafayette marveled. He slackened his grip, allowing Washington to dismount and help him down off the horse. He beamed with pride, obviously pleased at Lafayette's reaction. 

“In my youth I was a surveyor. It was an honor to find a place fit for a mermaid.” He said, hand over his breast in a gesture of thanks. Lafayette smiled, almost bouncing on his aching feet as he approached the river. Oh it was lovely. The hot sun, the cool promise of water beneath shady trees. A place Washington himself had picked for  _ him _ . He loved it wholeheartedly. He was just about to dive in when he remembered…

“Oh! My uniform!” Lafayette sighed. He slid his jacket from his shoulders, and Washington cleared his throat. 

“Is there an issue?”

“None at all! This spot is perfect.” Lafayette huffed, loosening the stuffy cloth around his neck. “But if I do not disrobe my tail will shred your lovely uniform.” Washington for the gist, turning his back to Lafayette as his shirt was pulled over his head. 

“Might we have some privacy. The Marquis should enjoy his swim in peace.” Washington commanded the guards, their eyes watching Lafayette with rapt curiosity. Glancing over his shoulder, Lafayette could see the looks of disappointment on their faces. Today would not be the day they see a mermaid swim. But it would be the day they see his bare rear if they did not move quickly enough. His breeches were kicked aside, stockings rolled off in a tizzy as he could no longer wait to dive in. 

The first splash was delicious. His pains melted away, legs fusing back to their natural state. Within the first few kicks Lafayette’s fears were absolved. His tail, though a little sore, was fine. Breaking the surface of the water Lafayette paused to examine the spot on his tail. It was still pink and shiny, and itched with new scales. The scales were larger, and moving to cover the soft tender flesh beneath the scar tissue. It was healing. And with the living, soothing touch of water it would regain full mobility. 

“How is your tail?” Washington asked. He had turned around, his own curiosity getting the better of him. He stood close to the river bank, boots sinking into the mud as he tried to spy Lafayette's tail. It was cute and quizzical look Lafayette found charming. 

“All is well! It is is sore and healing, but will gain strength as I keep swimming.” Lafayette chirped. He splashed at the water theatrically, sending a spray across the bank. Washington stepped back to avoid the brunt of the splash.

“I wish you a speedy recovery. How is the water?” 

“A little chilly.” Lafayette called back. He dipped below the surface, swirling and bubbling happily. Oh how he missed this feeling. The near weightlessness. The thrum of the current. The smooth slick feel of rocks along the river bed. His fins danced over them carefully, as if dusting each one off. Every rock was perfect. Every fish that darted out of his sight tempting. Lafayette plucked one from the current, a small silver fish that wriggled in his jaws before he clamped down tight. Fat and blood, how he  _ missed it _ . He licked his fingers greedily, treating himself to three more before surfacing again at the edge of the bank. The water lapped at Washington’s boots and Lafayette followed them up until he was squinting into the sun to look at his face. 

“Aren't you hot in all those things?” He asked. Washington looked down at his attire, smoothing a hand over his waistcoat. 

“They're summer weaves so they're not quite as restricting as you'd think.” Lafayette pouted, splashing at Washington's boots with his tail. The spray was high enough to douse his breeches at the knees before he had time to flinch back. 

“Join me.” 

Washington flushed, his hands fidgeting with uncertainty. “I couldn't, dear boy, it would be...immodest.” That damned modesty. How irritating it must be to live in fear of your shirt being untucked or your collar being askew. When did humans become so afraid of their own skin? Lafayette huffed, leaning his face in his hand. 

“Immodest for whom? I am not a nobleman of Versailles. I am a creature of the deep. You see me as I am--as I was born. You would do me no disrespect, as I see little use in human garb.” He said. Lafayette gestured dramatically at his uniform; the boots, the stockings, the immaculate waistcoat and jacket. He could do without it. Washington was an impressive man, lack of uniform would not take that away from him. But the man before him squirmed uncomfortably, glancing over his shoulder as if to check for prying eyes. 

“It is not  _ just _ immodest. I have been... _ advised... _ not to join you in the water.” His voice was hushed, as though he wished to keep it secret. Lafayette's heart dropped into his stomach. 

“Why not? Can you not swim? I can carry you if you cannot--”

“No, no dear boy, it's complicated.” Washington paused, clearly saddened by turning down the offer of a swim. But as Lafayette bobbed disappointingly in the river he found his voice again. “We only know your kind from lore, and forgive me, but my staff seem to be under the impression that you may drown me.” He said it cautiously as if Lafayette were to fly into a rage at the mention. 

“I do not drown men. I saved the very first one I saw.” Lafayette said softly. “And I have heard things too. Things about what men do to mermaids who wash up on their shores…” his mouth went dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “But surely you will not flay me alive?”

“ _ Flay you?” _ Washington balked. “That's absurd.” Lafayette let out a shaky breath, laughter rising from the trembling in his chest. 

“As is drowning you, my dear General. If I wished you harm I could have swamped your boat on the Delaware. But then again, providence was on your side that night.” Lafayette grinned, his smile white and snaggle toothed. Washington looked on in awe as his memory came to him. 

“ _ You?” _ A playful splash from Lafayette's tail silenced him. 

“Yes,  _ me.  _ Now I will ask again for you to join me. I have yet to see a human swim.” He said coyly. “As I've said, you can hardly embarrass me.” With that he pushed back from the bank, twirling and dipping below the water as Washington contemplated his offer once more. His fingers groped at the buttons of his waistcoat, slowly plucking up the courage to disrobe. Lafayette stared back from the river, submerged but for his head to the nose. After a few shy glances over his shoulder, and gnawing on his lip, Washington nodded to himself. 

“Might I ask you to turn away for my sake?” Lafayette responded by covering his eyes with his hands, spinning ‘round so he faced the opposite bank. In those moments of darkness there was excitement. The rustle of a uniform being discarded. The uptick in Washington's pulse as he stripped down. Lafayette could even tell when his shyness caught the best of him, heart stopping in a moment of panic as he glanced back over his shoulder. Nonetheless there was a splash, and the sensation of erratic paddling as Washington entered the water. “You may open them now.” He called, his voice much closer now. Lafayette dropped his hands, whirling around to meet his companion when--  _ oh.  _ His heart skipped a little. 

Rid of all the silly human garments, Washington was quite  _ alluring.  _ Lafayette was fond of him, yes. Wished to be near him. Ached for his company, his wit, his soul. But this was  _ different.  _ Here in the river, bare to the waist where the water obscured him, Washington was no different than a mermaid. A strong, healthy one at that. Strong sturdy shoulders, an equally broad chest that held true even without the layers of his uniform. He drifted through the water carefully, approaching Lafayette with shy hesitation, but he was regal and beautiful. Lafayette felt himself shy back as the queasy, lovesick feeling in his gut overwhelmed him. A mermaid like this in the sea would have wooed him easily. But Washington was no fish. He was a man, and one who was keen on knowing Lafayette better. And Lafayette in turn wished to know him better, perhaps more intimately. 

Beneath the gentle ripple of the water, Lafayette's tail brushed lightly against Washington's thigh, causing the man to yelp. “It is just my fins, sir. There are no other predators here.” He reassured, though he felt badly for scaring the man. Washington regained his composure. 

“I am more afraid of being scolded by my advisors, dear boy. You do not frighten me.” That was a lie. Washington's heartbeat told a different story, speeding up as he realized that the apex species here was not him. Lafayette challenged the thought, circling Washington slowly in the water.

“No?” He asked slyly, dipping below the surface. Naked men he had seen aplenty in camp, but Washington covered himself as Lafayette completed his full circle. “Your body language is very defensive. Are you afraid I'll attack?” 

“Not afraid. Just polite.” Washington said, taking his opportunity to kick back and swim. Lafayette giggled. He best not draw out this little game of predator and prey. Besides, there were more appealing things to be enjoyed. Like the way Washington's hair lay damp on his chest, or how he could glide through the water with ease. 

“If I did not know better I would have mistook you for a mermaid.” Lafayette said, rolling twice in the water. Washington let out a small scoff of disbelief.

“Nonsense.” 

“It's true! You have a certain grace most humans lack. I could see you with a tail.” Lafayette said, wiggling his fins comically. “A deep blue one. Speckled white. Like the fish I've seen in tropic seas.” Washington's interest was piqued, and he edged closer. Lafayette paddled to a partially submerged rock, perching on it happily. 

“They are like sharks, only giant. Large, gentle souls the size of whales. They make their way across the sea slow and steady, strong blue tails waving behind them. They like the surface where the warm sun can glitter off the spots on their backs. Oh, I love them. You may swim alongside them for miles without a care in the world. I never saw where they go, for my family had always expected me to turn back, but the last thing I saw was that deep blue tail with white spots...it would just  _ disappear.  _ Dissolve into the hazy blue until even the white became a trick of the light. A giant vanishing into thin air. A lot like you….” 

Lafayette trailed off, lost in the thought of those blue and white creatures. How for a moment he could actually imagine fins poking out of the water of the river. How he would tap Washington on the shoulder to show him. A silent moment to gaze upon something truly breathtaking. The moment passed as Washington paddled up to the rock, his hair floating on the surface of the river. His attention was solely on Lafayette's fins, which slapped the water absentmindedly. 

“They are beautiful.” Washington remarked, mesmerized by its opalescent shimmer. “Like a gossamer veil.” Lafayette raised his fins for a closer look, turning them to catch the light. Pinks and blues jumped to attention, and Washington could not seem to hold back his curiosity. He reached out...and touched them. 

Lafayette froze. A mermaid’s fins are extremely intimate. To place them in anothers hands is to show complete trust. Damage to the fins could hinder a mermaid’s chances in hunting or mating, and are not handed over lightly. In fact, most merfolk only let their mate touch their tails in a gesture of good faith. To let someone, let alone a  _ human _ , grope his fins would be ripe for ridicule below the sea. But here in the privacy of the river Lafayette could see no harm in indulging a human’s budding curiosity.

“Be gentle.” Lafayette whispered, a little embarrassed at how forward Washington was. “They are delicate.” He was, thankfully. Between his thumb and forefinger, Lafayette's fin was gently stroked in curious little circles. It tickled lightly, sending a spark to Lafayette's belly. Washington studied them carefully, his fingers tracing the fine  webbed veins between the ruffled edges of the fins. It was all quite intimate. Soft and gentle, taking delight in every glittering color. With each passing moment in his hands, Lafayette felt safe and secure. Cared for by a species not his own. Perhaps it was Washington's hobby to take in things not his own, but he was gifted at the art of nurturing. He had not planned to care so deeply for a human when he set out for the colonies, but he was eternally grateful for finding this one. 

Washington looked up from his work, hands still tracing invisible shapes upon his fins. “Won't you come back to the manor tonight? Your wound does not need immediate care anymore, and I'd much rather see you rest in a warm bed.” His expression was soft, almost pleading. Could it be that he had missed him? Their late night drinks by the fire, and mornings over tea. Lafayette had missed those dearly, and it touched him to see the same in Washington.

“But of course. I must return to my duties, after all. Letter writing is something I am proud of. There is no ink and quill under the sea.” He beamed. Washington chuckled, pulling gently on Lafayette’s hand to return him to the water.

“There are many accomplishments I have yet to praise you on, little fish.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient during the summer hiatus! Your comments meant the world to me :)


	9. The Words of Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take note that this chapter has some explicit content. Though the rating will stay at M, any explicit scenes will be forewarned in the beginning notes. Enjoy!

Water, to mermaids, is a living thing. It's a parent--a provider-- abundant with food and places for its children to rest and raise their own. It's ancient and wise, with time honored traditions dating back eons. But in respect to the universe--to the sun and stars-- it is a child. A fickle, temperamental child. Rivers overflow and ruin fields. Oceans retreat from the shores, winding up like a hand to strike humanity across its face. It was deep and dark and full of secrets. Things it kept from its children.It was no wonder mankind was wary of water. It brought life and destruction. But today...it only brought joy. 

As the sun dipped into mid afternoon Lafayette could sense Washington becoming tired. Humans were not meant to swim, after all. It was just a pleasant skill they remembered to use. The river rock Lafayette had sat upon became more of a rest stop, with Washington leaning against it happily as Lafayette frolicked to and fro in the current. 

“How nice it is to swim against the current instead of stewing in a tub.” Lafayette laughed, twirling lazily. Washington smiled gently, more of his weight leaning on the rock. It gave pause that hinted towards the end of their day in the sun. 

“Perhaps we head back to camp, dear Lafayette. We still need to get you settled.” He said. Lafayette resisted the urge to scowl; leaving the river was tough, but the promise of a nice warm bed in lieu of the old rickety cot in his medical tent was even more appealing. Washington waited for him to return a nod of agreement before wading his way to the riverbank. Before Lafayette's frantic undressing he somewhat recalled seeing linens set aside for him to dry himself. The wind shifted, and Lafayette’s keen senses could pick out the goosebumps rising on Washington's exposed shoulders. 

A wave of guilt washed over him. Perhaps it was selfish to ask the human to join him in the water. Though the heat of summer lasted well into September, the nights had began to come quicker and colder. Despite how ridiculous it looked, the cloth humans swaddled themselves in preserved their heat. Swimming by Washington, Lafayette flicked his tail out to graze across the skin of his calf. It was considerably colder than when he had entered the water. Washington turned around, unsure of why Lafayette had tapped him. 

“Is everything alright, Lafayette?” He asked, his eyes averting to the fins poking out of the water. “Is it your tail?” Lafayette sunk into the water bashfully, up to his nose in guilt. He blew some bubbles timidly as he worked up the nerve to speak. 

“Aren't you cold?” It came out soft and concerned. Lafayette let his fins stroke up and down Washington's leg, mimicking the way he had seen humans rub their arms for warmth. It seemed to work, as Washington's skin pricked with heat and a pinkness returned to his cheeks. He looked a bit bashful himself, sinking below the waters so that his shoulders were submerged once again. 

“A bit, but it's nothing a warm fire can't solve.” He glanced towards the river bank littered with clothes. “Would you mind averting your eyes once more?”

It wasn't a terribly rude thing to request, Lafayette was satisfied simply coaxing Washington out of his comfort zone for a few precious hours. He spun around, eyes fixed on the opposite banks as he heard his companion leave the water. From his spot in the river he could see nothing but trees. Miles and miles of them, their tops gold and green, dappling up into the hills. He could hear things as well. The soft huffing of their horses beyond the tree line. Washington drying off with his linen, his heart beating a little quicker than usual. Birds cawing from the canopy of leaves. 

It wouldn't be long until Lafayette would heave himself up onto the banks, his land legs returning with that fresh piercing pain. He'd retreat back into the forest in his human clothes, sleep in a human bed, eat human food--but he wouldn't  _ be _ human. To them he was only a visitor; a voyeur in their lives.

He feared that his fellow soldiers would see him as a man on borrowed legs, something to be discarded if the war took an unpleasant turn. But Lafayette had no intention of slipping into the abyss at the first sign of danger. He had taken a bullet for this war. Risked his longevity in the process. And while any man enlisted could say they are gambling the forty or sixty years ahead of them, Lafayette had anted up a staggering  _ two thousand. _ And yet...being here--listening to the birds, the river, the way Washington softly groaned as he pulled on his boots-- it was the most beautiful thing he had encountered in his 457 years on this earth. 

“Thank you.” Washington called, signaling the end of Lafayette’s polite avoidance. Paddling back over to the lip of the river bank Lafayette heaved himself over with a grunt. The solid weight of his tail gave way, his new toes flexing in the mud as he sprung to his feet. His knees wobbled from the pain, but Lafayette was eager to show he was in tip top shape. Going back to the manor was a must. His commander needed him. 

His commander was also quick to take off his cloak and wrap him up, face red as he murmured something about catching cold. Lafayette took a deep breath, trying to feel the chill Washington was concerned over. True, it was no longer as comfortable to be wet, and the breeze made his skin prickle into fine bumps, but he had experienced things much colder than this. Deep depths and ice fields, northern waters that churned in blizzards. A pleasant autumn day in the sun was hardly cause for concern. Exhaling loudly Lafayette let the cloak drop from his shoulders, noting how Washington shifted awkwardly at the sight of his skin.

“You needn't worry about the cold, dear General, I’ve worn less than this in icier waters.” He said playfully, bending to pick up his crumpled breeches from the grass. “Though I feel terribly for soaking your cloak.” 

“Never you worry.”

Lafayette dressed quickly-- if only to prove that he could. He had mastered human routines down to the finest detail, beaming with pride as he lined each button of his waistcoat up to it's mate on his first try. No mirror! No assistance! All the layers in the right place until he looked as prim and proper as any other soldier on the line. The only giveaway was his hair; damp and curled from the water. He plaited it as neatly as possible, hoping the rebellious curls that escaped his queue would not give Washington cause to reprimand him. By the looks of Washington's braid, he felt he would be given a pass this time. 

When all was right the horses were brought back around, and Lafayette eased into the saddle behind his commander. Down below the personal guards exchanged curious looks, eying the two in the saddle before taking their own reins. Washington spoke first.“Head to camp.” His tone was sharp, and the two guards dug their heels into their steeds to carry on, eyes now fixed on the road. 

Lafayette watched them closely, noting how they glanced over their shoulders every now and again, as if looking for something--anything-- to share around the campfire. He wondered what they would say. That they had not seen the fish’s fins? That Washington grew a set of his own and took to the water? Rumors had already begun to churn, and what would these two bring to the already fantastical tales the soldiers had started to weave? The thought of it caused a stone to drop in Lafayette's belly. He tried to push it from his mind and focus on the dull throb of his wounded leg as the horse trotted over rough stones and tree roots. 

The camp trickled into sight, a sea of tents pitched as far as the eye could see. Smoke rose from the fire pits, and the sounds of army life rushed to meet them. It was a welcoming clamor of men and guns, all in neat tidy rows in the field as their officers barked commands. From his perch in the saddle Lafayette could see them turn on their heels, weapons leaned hard against their shoulder as they tried to move in perfect unison. It was, alas, not perfect. They moved slow or out of time, the firing line a rippling sea of gangly half dressed men. In comparison to the British army Lafayette had glimpsed at Brandywine it was pitiful. And autumn was quickly moving in. There would be only a few good weeks of battle left before the first frost, and Washington would hunker his army down to survive the winter. By the looks of the camp it would be an abysmal one. 

The horse was halted at the medical tent, and Lafayette slid awkwardly from the saddle. His boots hit the ground with a dull thud, causing his knees to buckle under the pain. Washington spared no time righting him. 

“I won't leave without you, dear Marquis. Though I do expect to have your wound checked one last time before you meet me in my tent.” He said, one hand firm under Lafayette’s underarm. Lafayette teetered back onto his feet and planted them. 

“Of course, Your Excellency! I shall get a clean bill of health, and meet you immediately.” He bounded towards the tent flaps, only briefly hearing Washington call for him to take his time. 

Inside there was his empty cot and the doctor seated beside it. His apron was smattered with blood, and his face long and tired. He barely looked up at Lafayette as he hopped up onto the cot for his examination. His boot was shucked off, stockings rolled down to expose the puckered pink scar on his calf. The doctor poked at it lethargically. Lafayette raised a brow in concern.

“Is it alright? I have been told the smooth patch is the new skin.” He said, finger tracing between the rough scar tissue. The doctor in turn pushed his stool back with a grunt. 

“Your wound is healing perfectly, Major General.” His voice was gruff and cold. Lafayette meekly pulled his stocking back into place. 

“May I ask what is wrong? You look troubled.” 

There was silence, and for a moment Lafayette wondered if he had crossed some line. By human ranking he was well above this camp doctor, and his closeness with Washington was means enough to keep quiet. But Lafayette hated to see the man in pain, and by the look on his face he had seen a great deal of it that day. 

“Our army took an enormous hit at Brandywine. When I am not here attending to your wound, I am in the tents with the other men who were wounded. We lose more than we save. And everyday more men come into our quarantine tents sick from British prisons. Our supplies are running low and it's all we can do to make them last. Food, munitions, these things are at the top of the list. But we can't afford to wait on supplies, not when more and more men are being carried in half dead.” He wiped pitifully at the reddish brown stains on his apron, hands trembling. “Forgive me, Major General, this is not meant to be some kind of plea--”

“I understand.” Lafayette said. He lay a hand gently on the doctor’s shoulder, aware of how the man flinched. It was shame and exhaustion, something Lafayette had seen much of in his time here. Proud men who joined the army full of hope only to see it cut down in a hail of cannon fire. Freedom was swapped for food and boots with half a sole. Soldiers became beggars in filthy hunting shirts trudging through mud and rain without pay. Deserters broke at the thought of their children starving. Those who stayed risked starving themselves. And winter would come in just a few weeks, when the last of the apples were picked clean of the trees, and the forest had nothing left to forage. 

“Sir, you are a good man.” Lafayette said softly, as if scared to spook him. “And a fine doctor. I am certain it is not easy to voice your grief to me, but I assure you I am eager to help. If you can write up an official letter requesting supplies, and how desperately in need you are, I can find the funds. Congress may not open its purse quickly but I do. But it must be in writing so that I may present it to General Washington. He has been... _ advising _ me on my spending as of late. I cannot promise you everything, but at least  _ something _ to keep your tents open to the sick.” 

The doctor wiped the back of his hand briskly across his eyes. Lafayette could see it glisten with tears. “Thank you.” He whispered. His gaze remained to the floor, too overcome to meet Lafayette's stare. “You are too generous.” Lafayette pulled his boot on, wiggling into the still damp rag stuffed into the toe. 

“When the gold I have spent outweighs the compassion I have seen in the humans of this army, then I will gladly call myself too generous. Until then please send that letter to me.” He chirped. With a little hop he was off the cot and collecting his things, listening to the pen scratching of the doctor as he wrote Lafayette’s final medical assessment. With this paper he would be free and clear to join Washington back in the manor, and not a moment too soon. He had letters to write, funds to allocate, congressmen to charm.The papers were folded neatly and placed in Lafayette’s outstretched palm, and like a child on Christmas he bounded out of the tent looking to show it off.

Washington was in his tent, as promised, looking over some letters pensively. Lafayette caught a glimpse of him writing in the margins of a small journal as he trotted towards the tent excitedly.

“Your Excellency!” Lafayette called, attempting to slip through the tent flaps. It was less than graceful, the thick cloth thwacking back against him and ruffling his already mussed hair. He stumbled in, tripping over his borrowed feet as he caught his breath. A short medical leave and already he was out of shape. Washington looked him curiously, his eyes glimmering with a fond amusement that made Lafayette's cheeks burn. He liked that look. The same spark of curiosity as when he had stroked his fins so tenderly. Of course Lafayette  _ knew _ Washington wasn't fluent in mermaid etiquette, but he adored the budding intimacy it allowed them to share. 

“Are those your papers?” Washington asked wryly. Lafayette straightened up, hands smoothing over his uniform before he handed the now crumpled paper to his commander. It was pitifully wrinkled, but Washington opened it with care and gave it a once over. “Perfect health. Welcome back, dear Marquis.” Lafayette rocked on his heels, impatient to get back to work. And what work he had before him, too. A mountain of letters, once laid out in an attempt at neat rows, now sliding off a table in the corner of the tent. They were addressed to Washington, to his aides, and some to Lafayette. It was obvious that despite Lafayette being bedridden Washington did not wish to disturb him with military matters. All those requests and voices would have sparked Lafayette to leave his sick bed prematurely; potentially injuring himself further. The result was a backed load of correspondence gone unattended, and an overworked staff with nowhere to start. Washington caught Lafayette staring at the mess.

“Monstrous, isn't it?” He sighed. “I receive more each day. I’ll need to pair you up with one of my aides-de-camp to move it along.” Some urgent papers were stacked and tucked beneath his arm as they made their way to the tent opening. “But I am certain you two will get along famously. He’ll be joining us for supper.” Washington said. With one broad hand he pushed the tent flap aside, and Lafayette nimbly shuffled through. “I believe we’re having a roast, as well as some kind of fish.” 

Lafayette grinned widely, patting his belly with enthusiasm. “I think I shall have the roast.” He was resolved to never have human cooked fish again.

* * *

The man who sat across the dining room table was unlike anything Lafayette had seen before. While most of Washington's men were tall, he came up quite short. In fact, Lafayette had prematurely craned his neck upon entering the manor, hoping to catch sight of a tall regal man worth Washington's praise. Instead his head fell limp, finally stopping at the stubborn face of a slight young man. He barely came up past Washington's chest, his chin in a permanent upwards thrust to meet whomever was speaking. But he had intelligent eyes and a quick wit, and Lafayette was quite taken.

“Lafayette, might I introduce you to one of my finest aides-de-camp-- Alexander Hamilton. He’ll be joining us this evening, as well as aiding you with your work.” Lafayette leaned forward to kiss the man on both cheeks; a custom which Hamilton mirrored instantly. 

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Hamilton said. “As well as very humbled that a being of your majesty has invested in this war.” He said it carefully, as if unsure how respectfully to address Lafayette. Lafayette bowed his head in brief response. Washington looked over the two proudly.

“Shall we?” 

Hamilton proved to be charming and persuasive, running the conversation in circles as dinner went on. Lafayette marveled at his way with words, making note of how and when he spoke. The chance to work alongside him and improve his English was certainly a gift, one that Washington had greatly bestowed upon him. It wasn't until the dinner plates had been cleared and replaced with apples and nuts that Hamilton turned the conversation towards Lafayette.

“I have been told your tail is healing quite well. You've even begun to swim again.” Hamilton said. He carefully selected a few nuts from a bowl in the center of the table. Following that was a pause, and Lafayette scrambled to gauge if a question had  _ actually _ been asked. The way Hamilton spoke it was as if he was baiting him into sharing their day, though he did not formally ask. Lafayette cleared his throat.

“I have. His Excellency found a lovely spot on the river. Plenty ripe for hunting and a good current to swim against.” Lafayette said, picking at an apple slice. “He made for excellent company as well. I do hate to swim alone.” This had been news to Hamilton, who looked over at Washington with a look of realization; his mind piecing together the unruly curl of Washington's hair and the sun baked spots on his cheeks. 

“He did.”

“Most definitely.”

Washington stiffly peeled his apple, eyes fixed on the fruit and not the seething stare he was receiving from Hamilton. Lafayette pieced together his own realization.

“I suppose you are upset that he did not heed your advice. You  _ are _ the advisor who warned him not to enter the water, yes?” Now it was Hamilton’s turn to avert his gaze, fixating on the nutcracker in his hand. “I am not upset, good sir, only curious.”

“I am.” Hamilton said curtly. “And you must pardon my cautious nature but I am not from here. Where I am from men are routinely swallowed up by the sea, and not always from shipwrecks.” He cracked a walnut, his slender fingers fishing out the meat of the nut. Lafayette’s brows knit with concern.

“I can assure you, Monsieur Hamilton, that I am no siren. I have read your lore and I am nothing like the figures you paint.” Hamilton looked up at him, his face wrought with a mess of feelings. In the span of two seconds Lafayette could see anger, regret, even fear. It disturbed him deeply. Clearly the man was conflicted. On one hand their meal had been amicable. Hamilton genuinely laughed at his jokes, entertained his questions, and shared his own. On the other Lafayette’s presence was a threat to the cause. Sirens were known to be charming in order to coax unwitting men into the depths. He had done just that to Washington earlier that day-- against  _ this man’s _ advice. Gaining his trust would not be easy now that the foundation of their meeting proved to be so unsettled. 

“I do not expect you to trust me wholeheartedly, Monsieur Hamilton. I understand that my origins are somewhat foreign, and that my being here is perceived as ominous. However, your kind...your cause...they speak to me. I have found in this army a home I did not have in my youth.” Lafayette watched as Hamilton shifted in his chair uneasily, eyes darting to Washington . “And I suspect you have too. I respect your right to protect it.” 

Lafayette watched as Hamilton’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and took it as a win. Washington set down the core of the apple he had been cutting away at. 

“Gentlemen, I think it's high time we head to bed. The two of you have a long day ahead of you, and I'd hate to see you two bicker due to lack of sleep.” He said, lips turned up in a slight smile. 

“Only the old bicker” Hamilton scoffed. 

“Then I am ripe for it.” Lafayette retorted. Hamilton smiled to himself and pushed his chair out. Washington followed suit. There was a short round of goodbyes, and Lafayette was pleased to see that Hamilton was still open to exchange a kiss on the cheek. He received a firm pat on the back from Washington before heading up to his room. Lafayette moved to follow, but was stopped by a steady hand on his shoulder.

“There are a few things we must discuss first, dear boy.” 

Washington stepped into the parlor, and headed for a decanter sitting on the table. “A drink?” Lafayette nodded, and accepted the full cup eagerly. It was sweet wine, full and rich, and it warmed his belly delightfully. Lafayette licked his lips, chasing the drop that threatened to dribble down his chin. Washington sipped his own glass slowly. The jovial man he had seen at dinner had been set aside, replaced by someone more solemn. 

“First, I would like to apologize on behalf of Alexander. He can be temperamental, but I assure you there is a kind young man beneath that frosty exterior.” Washington said, swirling his glass with a kind of second hand embarrassment Lafayette saw in parents of wayward children. “He will see you as I do soon enough, and call you friend.” 

Lafayette smiled sweetly. “I have taken no offense. I did tempt you into the river today, and that is a blow to my already menacing reputation. I should have heeded your warning this afternoon.” He meant to shift the blame off Hamilton, chalking their tense conversation up to a cultural misunderstanding, but Washington was not convinced.

“I hope you do not take this as a sign to never ask--” Washington stopped abruptly, overcome with a shyness Lafayette had not seen in him before-- and he had seen him nude. “To never allow yourself to share the marvelous aspects of your kind. I suspect the more men see, the more they will come to adore your mythic origins.” 

“Then I take it you will join me for another swim sometime soon?” Lafayette said with a wink. He could not pass up the opportunity to ask. Not when his commander was so adamant he share his true nature. Washington laughed with relief. 

“Just don't let it slip to Alexander.” 

The two giggled into their cups like ladies around a sewing circle, content to keep their swims a well kept secret. It was only when Washington tossed back the rest of his wine that they settled back into a more serious topic.

“There is more I wish to tell you. I'm afraid it's disturbing.” The empty glass was set aside, and Washington reached into his breast pocket. He pulled out a heavily creased paper, unfolding it to reveal the neat printed lines of a newspaper article. “Word has slipped past our lines into British territory. They are aware of your...condition.” Lafayette swallowed hard, taking the article with trembling hands. 

_ Rebel hopes filleted, Gen. Washington commander and fish monger.  _

Beneath the title was a scathing account taken from dubious sources. Men who claimed to have seen Lafayette’s feet as his boots were removed after Brandywine, the toes webbed and disfigured. How he sucked the innards of fish in front of the men and wore their bones around his neck. How he sang for men, using their entranced bodies to shield himself from the hail of bullets during battle. His blood boiled well before he read the anonymous retelling of how Washington lay at his flippered feet and offered himself up for divine guidance. 

“ _ Slander!”  _ Lafayette cried, tears springing to his eyes. “Absolute  _ lies,  _ I would  _ never--” _ the words caught in his throat, twisting and constricting until he could barely breathe. Hot tears rolled down his face as he reached the end, where it was made know that the next time Lafayette showed his face on the battlefield, every British officer would be dining on fish that evening. 

“I am sorry you had to see this, my friend.” Washington said. “But such is war. It is as much a battle of reputation as it is of wits.” Lafayette was seeing red, his head spinning. He crumpled the article in some vain attempt to spite the man who penned it. 

“But they are  _ lies---” _

“I know. I have been a rich target for them since the war began. Now you share this unfortunate spotlight with me.” Lafayette tossed the balled up trash aside, wiping pitifully at the fat tears upon his cheeks. These men did not know him. He was not some beast in men's clothes flopping on the dock. He was not a temptress looking to pleasure himself with groveling humans. He was...he was...well, it didn't matter what he was. All that mattered was that he wasn't  _ human.  _ He would never  _ be _ human. This world was borrowed for him, and there were men-- cruel men-- who would see it taken from him. In his fit of despair Lafayette had hardly noticed Washington pressing close, his hands rubbing his trembling shoulders soothingly. 

“Do not make yourself sick over this, Lafayette. You have proven to be our  _ greatest _ ally. Fear drives these men to publish such filth. It would bring them nothing but joy to see you slip into the abyss and abandon your countrymen.” Washington cupped his hand under Lafayette's chin, tipping his head up with utmost care. His eyes were kind and full of gentle adoration. “That is why I ask for you to be unashamed of who you are. Show the men that you are a force of nature--passionate and hot blooded as any man on the battlefield-- and in turn they will carry you proudly upon their shoulders. Can you do that for me?” Lafayette felt himself melt into Washington's touch, lips parting as his breath left him. 

“ _ Of course.” _

Washington’s thumb passed over his cheek to catch a stray tear, silently reassuring Lafayette. It was a quiet, tender moment, and for the second time today Lafayette found himself weak under the touch of his commander. It was slow and delicate, so utterly caring. Lafayette let his eyes flutter close, content to bask in this attention forever. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone. Washington withdrew his touch, opting to fish a handkerchief from his jacket and handing it to Lafayette. Lafayette accepted gracefully, dabbing at his eyes. The linen was coarse compared to Washington's touch, but no less generous a gesture. Washington smoothed his hands over his waistcoat, shifting awkwardly on his heels.

“It's getting late. I'm certain your bath is turning cool, though I’m not quite sure you mind.” Washington said. Lafayette wrung the handkerchief between his hands as he struggled to find his voice.

“I like hot baths. They remind me of hot springs.” He fumbled. Washington headed towards the stairs, Lafayette close on his heels.

“Then I shall leave you to your bath. Goodnight, Lafayette.” Lafayette scrambled up the stairs, legs pumping to keep up with Washington's long strides. They paused at the top of the stairs, ready to part to their separate rooms. Lafayette stood at attention--if only for a moment. 

“Goodnight, Your Excellency.”

And with that Washington slipped into his quarters, and Lafayette resigned to slip into his tub. 

* * *

Bathing was an odd ritual, but a necessary one. Without the gentle current buffing his skin all manner of filth could accumulate. On any one day Lafayette was trekking in dirt, mud, and manure. His hands fumbled with gunpowder and greasy meat. Dust kicked up from horses and settled in his hair. Sweat was a curse. By day’s end he felt coated in grime. 

And then came the bath. 

Steaming hot water, a rag, and a cake of soap were his saviors. Lafayette had taken to the ritual instantly. Sitting chest deep in the fragrant water, bubbles frothing with each churn of his tail, it was utter bliss. He took his time, not at all sensitive to the slow cooling of the bath water. His hair was scrubbed and rinsed out with a pitcher. His chest passed over with the warm soapy rag. He even took the time to clean his fins. They were the most important, and each long ruffle on his fluke was handled with a delicate touch. 

Lafayette slouched in the tub, curling his tail forward to lay the sheer veil of his fins across his chest. They flickered in the candlelight, it's warmth picking up on the rich pinks and yellows of his scales. He wondered, for a brief moment, what Washington would think of them. They no longer shimmered like a jewel in the sun, but they were appealing nonetheless. A  _ gossamer veil _ Washington had called them. So fine and delicate that he took them cautiously between his work rough fingers.

Curiously, Lafayette rubbed his fins between his fingers, chasing Washington's phantom touch. His cheeks burned hot and a small whimper escaped his throat. It was new and exciting,his fins quivering against his chest as he continued his ministrations. His tail twitched and flexed against the confines of the tub, and suddenly the cool water felt too hot and dizzying. Lafayette let go of his fins, letting them slap the water loudly. In an instance he had climbed from the tub, his head still spinning as he wrapped himself in a dry linen. This was a dangerous (but tempting) line of thought. One that was best put to bed. 

Lafayette tamped out the candles and slid between the sheets of his bed, groaning with relief. It was soft as a cloud, and sorely missed. In the dark of his room the walls were painted with the long silhouettes of trees in the moonlight. They danced in the breeze, intertwining and breaking like lovers in the night. Lafayette felt a curious twitch beneath the sheets. He shifted awkwardly, trying to rid himself of the uncomfortable ache growing in his gut-- but to no avail. Glancing down the line of his body Lafayette pinpointed the cause of his discomfort. A fussy human appendage that had not  _ done that  _ before. 

Lafayette peeked beneath the covers. His cock lay hard upon his belly, twitching with newfound excitement. He didn't need to think too long on what aroused it so. It had been Washington--his noble commander, and their day in the sun. Without his human garb, Washington made for the model of excellence. Just the memory of those strong shoulders and broad chest sent shivers down Lafayette's spine. His cock jumped sympathetically, sharing in the fantasy. 

Lafayette felt just a tad embarrassed. He was not unfamiliar with the way men dealt with their arousal. They pantomimed it comically around the campfire, later slinking to their tents to indulge in the act. It was simple, and all around acceptable, though Lafayette had never felt the need to perform it. Though now, in the darkness of his room, his body told a different story. Hesitantly, he lay a hand on his chest, and let it find its way down. His skin tingled with excitement as he brushed against the head of his cock. The flesh was warm, and firm beneath his hand. He curled his fist around himself, experimenting with a gentle tug. The result was  _ thrilling.  _

The first jolt was enough encouragement, and soon it gave way to a second, third, and fourth stroke. The giddy tingle he felt stroking his fins was nothing compared to the feeling of his cock in his hand. He dragged his hand over the length, twisting his fist over the sensitive skin of the head. In his mind flashed fantasies-- snippets of a dream he could hardly believe. Washington with him in the water. His rough hands on his fins. The way he felt as he dragged the pads of his fingers over him. Lafayette’s fist pumped faster, now imagining being pulled from the water and laid out on the grass by the river. Washington over him. That rough hand now firm around his aching cock as he whispered into his ear. His breath was hot against him, wet curls tickling Lafayette's nose as he laid sweet praises on him. On every  _ marvelous aspect  _ that made Lafayette his. 

Pleasure mounted at the base of his spine, and Lafayette twisted in the sheets as he chased the sensation. He worked himself over frantically, devouring every image of Washington atop him as his climax approached. Phantom lips pressed against his ear, and Washington's gruff voice filled his mind. “ _ Can you do that for me?”  _ A moan clawed its way out of Lafayette's throat, his toes curling as his vision went white. Something warm spilled over his fist and smattered his stomach. 

And just like that his ache was gone. His cock softened in his hand, and his breathing evened out. That dizzying warmth lingered on his cheeks and between his legs, beckoning him to close his eyes and drift into the loving embrace of sleep. He grabbed a rag from the bedside and wiped the sticky remnants of his pleasure from his stomach, his vision hazy. And for once he did not resist the pull, but slipped blissfully into the current that put his mind to rest, with nothing but the sun and Washington on his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have been visiting me on tumblr, thank you!! I've noticed that sometimes tumblr mobile glitches and blocks/spams new people. If so you can still try to reach me at @grumblebee-draws (my art blog) so I can figure out where tumblr went wrong.


	10. Plentiful

Alexander Hamilton proved to be one of the most curious humans Lafayette had met. While Lafayette greatly enjoyed writing, Hamilton excelled at it. Not a day went by that the young man wasn’t scribbling away at his desk, shaving letters off the pile stack by stack. Lafayette worked at a snail’s pace beside him, content to know that Washington’s correspondence would not be held up much.

“Lafayette, your sleeve.” Hamilton murmured, nose still pointed squarely at the letter in front of him. Lafayette jerked his hand back, noting the blooming black stain where the lace of his cuff had dipped into the inkwell.

“ _ Oh”  _

Scrubbing at it was pointless, as Lafayette had overheard many of the camp laundresses gripe about how careless the soldiers were with their ink. Uniforms often returned with dark smudges on the fabric, forever marked with carelessness. Perhaps Lafayette would just spring for a new uniform...maybe one with tighter cuffs. Oh but he did like the lace…

“Lafayette, your  _ sleeve” _

Same sleeve, but now the stain trickled down his cuff and up his forearm. Lafayette let out a small embarrassed chuckled and grabbed a handkerchief. He dabbed at the mark quickly, hoping to stop the ink from reaching the brilliant blue of his coat.

“My apologies, Monsieur Hamilton. I am still getting used to clothing.” Lafayette shook out his sleeve, all too aware of how many layers he was under. “So many layers. It’s troublesome.” From the corner of his eye Lafayette spied a small smile gracing Hamilton’s face. It pleased Lafayette that his counterpart found this amusing. For all the trouble of being human, the thing he dreaded most was the look of impatience and disgust that humans shared amongst each other when social graces fumbled. But Hamilton merely set his quill aside, an act in itself miraculous.

“You would have hated summers where I was born. Hot, humid. No relief except from the waves, but we were not lucky enough to frolic in them all day.” He said. Lafayette stopped scrubbing at the stain, his interest piqued. 

“General Washington mentioned you are from the Caribbean, but came to the colonies for schooling. I imagine it must be hard to be so far from home.” Hamilton nodded, and for a brief moment looked a touch wistful. 

“There was not much left for me there. My place is here.” Hamilton’s hand darted for his quill, a semi involuntary action. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger as if trying to prompt himself to write, and leave this thought behind him. “Though it hardly compares to what you must be going through. A life in the sea...now on land. Does your family object to your being here? With humans?” 

It was Lafayette’s turn to swallow thickly, feeling all of a sudden the cold weight of the sea atop his shoulders, and the sickly feeling of sleeping alone in a half sheltered cave; small and forgotten. 

“I...my parents…that is to say they aren’t around anymore.” Hamilton fidgeted with his quill, his eyes fixed on Lafayette’s with solemn recognition. “All creatures die, Monsieur.” Lafayette croaked. 

“Alexander.” 

Lafayette let out a small shaky breath. “ _ Alexander _ .” A stray tear had escaped him, rolling down his cheek shamefully. “I apologize, Mon—, Alexander. It has been...lifetimes...but it is truly not long enough.” He dabbed at it quickly before returning to his paper. Hamilton rose from his chair and came to his side, examining the letter from over his shoulder.

“Your penmanship is wonderful considering you have just started writing. But your spelling...it’s a little flawed.” Lafayette stared dumbly down at his paper, trying hard to spot his error. 

“ _ Where?!” _

Hamilton chuckled and tapped a graceful finger to the page. “This part reads  _ hertfelt _ , heartfelt is spelled h-e- _ a _ -r-t-f-e-l-t. There’s an ‘a’ in there.” His finger then poised over certain letters in his sentence. “We also have rules as to what gets capitalized in a sentence.”

“That’s absurd. How am I to know there’s a hidden letter?” Lafayette said, scratching out the offending word. “And secret rules” Hamilton laughed and returned to his seat.

“Schooling. I can help you write in French if need be.” The quill found its way back to the page and the familiar sound of scratching filled the air. “Don’t try and decipher it yourself.” Lafayette pulled a fresh sheet of paper from the stack to rewrite the letter, his brows knitting together quizzically. 

“Why not?”

Hamilton flashed a knowing smile. “Ask General Washington.” 

* * *

The days of summer heat were a mere memory, with each morning growing colder than the last. The dark evenings came quicker, and with them came freezing rain that soaked the tents and gummed the roads. Winter had come to the colonies.

The mid December sun did little to warm Lafayette as he rode silently to their winter encampment. Human warfare slowed during the winter months, stopped by snow and cold. It was the safest bet to hunker down for the winter; focus on drilling and gathering intelligence. Lafayette preferred it that way. His leg still pained him, though aggravated by the chronic stabbing in his soles. And the cold wreaked havoc on his body. Cold waters were easy to adjust to, but on land temperatures fluctuated wildly. With every gust of wind the world dropped ten degrees, and it pierced through Lafayette like a knife. His human form began to ache, and looking at the soldiers behind him there was company in his misery. Wind burnt faces, cracked lips and watery eyes. Men curling into tattered coats and hobbling in the mud. This wasn’t an army, it was a funeral procession; and their grave would be Valley Forge. 

“Major General Lafayette” 

Lafayette snapped from his thoughts, turning expectantly to Washington, who rode beside him. His cheeks were ruddy with cold, peeking out over the thick scarf laid across his face to shield from the wind. Lafayette watched the mesmerizing sway of stray locks around his face, and the snow beginning to rest on the brim of his tricorn. It took a moment before Washington’s voice reached his ears.

“Pull your scarf to your nose, dear boy, lest you intend to lose it.” Lafayette hurriedly yanked the rough cloth over his nose and mouth, immediately feeling the heat from his breath hang before him. This was marginally better. Humans had mastered the art of surviving the cold, and it did not surprise him that there was method to the madness of layered clothing. Though, atop a horse, the layers felt as thin as seaweed. Lafayette’s arms were frozen in place at the reins, his forearms numb from bearing the brunt of the wind. Beneath his cracked leather gloves his palms were red and raw from cold. It was torture, but thankfully not for long. Washington’s horse slowed to a stop, and the army trudging behind them followed suit. Washington turned and addressed a few officers coming to a halt behind them, pulling the scarf down to speak above the wind. 

“We’re settling here. Tell the men to set up quickly before the snowfall becomes too heavy. Six to a tent. Firewood and rations are of utmost priority.” The men scrambled into action, trying hard to shake the men from their travel weary state. Those who stumbled into the field looked half dead, accompanied by overworked horses drudging overfilled carts through the wet, heavy mud. It was bleak, a truly awful sight. Washington pulled the scarf over his face once more and dug his heel in to urge his horse forward. “Come, Lafayette, we have work.” 

Something about that made his bones ache. Work. Letter writing. Lafayette cursed the joy he felt upon learning to read and write, for now he must bear witness to the desperate pleas of officers, and the apathetic responses of congress. There is no aid. No money. No food. And yet letter after letter arrive on his desk begging for the funds. Somewhere in the Atlantic lay his fortune, kept safe in an icy cove beneath the waves. A  _ solution _ to this madness. Fools who refused continental dollars would not turn down  _ gold. _ Lafayette would pen another letter requesting aid, bitterly wondering how many mouths a single ruby would feed. He would know had it not been for his keeper, his dear General Washington. 

Lafayette had proposed he take a short trip for funds before the frost set in. He would nip to the coast, any part, and grab as many riches as he could hold. Cash them in for well needed supplies. Help survive. But it was shot down. ‘ _ It is too risky, dear boy’  _ Washington had said. ‘ _ The British will be watching the coast for you, and you alone.’ _ Even now it made Lafayette’s stomach churn with frustration. Was he not an apex predator? A being so old that upon his birth humans had scant began to find their bearings on a compass. In the sea he was invisible and deadly. No one would see him unless he wanted it. How else had his kind been a myth until now? 

The frustration melted to guilt in his belly, its contents turning over as Lafayette looked at Washington’s strong back as he lead the way to a house at the edge of the field. His concern was natural. Lafayette was skilled enough to read the papers now. Loyalists had imaginative ideas of how they would punish Lafayette upon his capture; the most popular being to fillet him, whilst others preferred to chop of his tail for soup and hang the rest. Hamilton had done him the good favor of snatching an offensive article from his hands and tossing it to the flames before he had completed reading a recipe for  _ ragoût de lafayette.  _ Washington did nothing more than set stern boundaries; and after Brandywine, Lafayette wasn’t keen on breaking them. 

Washington’s war tent was being pitched alongside the men’s, and though the house was for their lodging, Lafayette knew otherwise. It was of utmost importance that Washington be seen beside the men. Morale had halved with the rations, and with another cut back on the way it was dire that the soldiers see Washington struggle among them. He would work in the blistering cold of his tent. Walk the snow and sludge trails of camp. Only return to his bed in the house to sleep, if at all. Lafayette eyed the cart being hauled up to the tent, laden with Washington’s belongings. He turned to an officer walking alongside his horse to guide the stream of carts.

“You there, sir. Make sure my things are brought to General Washington’s tent as well.” The man nodded and headed off, redirecting another cart to the tent instead of the house. He was here for the cause, for Washington. He would not be left alone in some house while his dear General toiled away in the cold.

While the tent was being pitched, Washington and his aides headed for the brief comfort of their new lodgings. The house itself was quaint, much smaller than the homes Lafayette had been invited to before. The front was a patchwork of stone, trimmed with clean white windows and shutters. In the barren field it looked like a tiny graying ember, its innards still glowing from the fire stoked in the hearth. Their quarters would be crowded this time, with four officers cramming themselves into two graciously borrowed rooms. It would be Washington, Hamilton, Lafayette himself, and a man Hamilton called Laurens— though Lafayette had not spoken much to the man on their trek. 

“Your rooms are up this way, Your Excellency.” A man said, ushering them up a narrow staircase. Lafayette had to stifle a laugh as Washington stepped onto the second floor landing and ducked abruptly. The move had been so quick and comical that Lafayette nearly registered he must do the same until the top of his head scraped the ceiling. A startled  _ oomph _ was heard from Laurens behind him, with Hamilton gliding effortlessly beneath the offending ceiling unscathed. 

“Rather low ceilings, be careful.” Washington mumbled. Lafayette kept his head bent low as they approached the first room on the floor. Cracking the door open Lafayette spied a room for two; two single cots, one beneath a sloped ceiling, the other opposite the window, adorned with a small table and two chairs. Laurens pushed past Lafayette, stooping over to enter the room.

“Me and Alexander will take this.” There was a pause as Laurens glanced back to Washington. “Unless this is the better of the two, then you may have it, Sir.” Washington poked his head in, glancing around the room. 

“I’ll scrape myself bloody on these ceilings. You may have it.” Hamilton pushed his way in as well, claiming the cot opposite the window by laying across it. Washington began to walk towards the room at the end of the hall before Lafayette could witness the bickering over the beds. The second room was just as small, this time with no sloping ceilings. Washington stepped in cautiously, Lafayette eagerly following at his heels. This room had a full bed, cushioned and with pillows. It was not canopied, nor did it need to be. It was warm. Perpendicular to that was another cot, identical to the ones in Hamilton’s room. Next to the bed it looked bare and unstable. The stretched canvas looked dingy and cold, and it wobbled when Lafayette lay his hand upon it. Washington took notice, and cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“I would feel terrible taking the bed when you have been so generous, Lafayette. I feel I won’t be using it much either, as I will be working in the tent. Please, take it.” 

Lafayette’s cheeks burned, guilt churning in his stomach. “Sir, I could not take that from you. You are the commander of this army. I can assure you this cot is more comfortable than the sand I am used to sleeping in. You do not offend me by using the bed.” Washington’s mouth pinched into a frown, realizing the battle of wills he was up against. Lafayette would not bend, nor would he take the one comfortable bed in this whole home. 

“Very well. The bed will be open for whomever retires first.” Washington said, unknowingly committing himself to another battle of wills. Lafayette smiled politely and planned to stay awake as long as possible. From down the hall drifted Hamilton and Laurens’ argument, growing louder by the second. Washington let out a slow breath and headed for the door. “It will be a long winter.” 

* * *

Winter on land was nothing like Lafayette had ever seen. It was cold and cruel, and posed just as large a threat as any army. Snow was frequent, blanketing the field and tents in heavy layers. Before doing his rounds, Lafayette was forced to layer his stockings, and wrap a heavier cloak around him as he marched. It was impossible to move between tents without collecting clumps of snow on his breeches and cloak, which melted by the heat of the fire and weighed down his clothes. Changing into dry garments, Lafayette could scarcely find a patch of skin that wasn’t red and stinging from the cold. And for him it was the least cruel.

The men were not as lucky as Lafayette. They did not have spare coin for quality fabrics. Many of them marched in civilian garb, as complete uniforms were becoming scarce even to officers. Lafayette had sent funds for warm clothing, but winter storms and reports of thieves delayed their aid. It was another block in a never ending line of problems that plagued the army. Lafayette braced himself as he ventured out into the snow that day to confront them.

Overtime, the usual sound of company drums and fifes had slowed to a trickle, the brutal cold making drum heads brittle and easy to crack. The men drilled to the sounds of an officer counting off, though their movements looked less like an army and more like a mass of confused, dying fish. Over the wind orders were lost, men turning right when commanded left. Their legs were numb from cold, and feet weighed down by the soupy slush that entered the holes of their boots. Lafayette noted that the majority of soldiers lacked proper attire, missing coats or vests. They shivered uncontrollably, arms trembling at their sides to ignore the urge to tuck cold fingers into the warmth of their underarms. 

The worst were those with missing or damaged shoes. No replacements could be made for heavily damaged boots, and so holes were plugged with wadded up cloth. Those who boiled their boots wrapped their feet in thick bindings, none of which blocked the cold or snow. Instead it soaked up cold water and damaged their feet. Lafayette had seen the damage to human feet, and it was gruesome. Afflicted limbs turned black and rigid. They called it frostbite, and the longer it was ignored the more of the limb it would claim. Men lost toes to save the foot. Lost feet to save the legs. They did it themselves in tents, or with the camp doctor while they bit down on splintering wood. Winter would disfigure them for life, and possibly discharge them from the army. And in return for their limbs Congress could offer them no commission, as funds were short. 

Possibly the most heartbreaking were the camp followers. Women and children who were uprooted from their homes and now trailed behind the army for miles on end. Every man who enlisted also shackled his family to the cause. Many of their homes were damaged in battle, or their loyalist neighbors posed too great a danger. Whatever their reason for leaving, they were now subjected to the fiercest conditions the army would face. Washington did not like camp followers mingling with the soldiers, for fear of spies and loss of valuable resources. But they were a help as well, mending uniforms and scavenging the forest floor for chestnuts and other things to feed the men. 

Lafayette’s heart went out to them, as today he ventured into their camp with a basket of coats to be patched up. 

The camp was dingier than the one for the soldiers, not organized in neat rows or made of the same canvas. It was a sea of hand-me-down quilts, curtains and bed clothes, pinned up to protect families from the cold. Women kept a close eye on children while carrying about their day. Their skirts were heavy and soaked with snow, but they knelt to fix the fire or dig a baking pit. Lafayette stepped around them carefully, noting how many of the women shyed back or straightened up at his presence. Washington has made it clear they must work to be allowed near camp, and Lafayette was a grim reminder that their place here could be given away if they were not seen working. One woman urged her young son to pick up a shirt, and mimic the scrubbing motion she demonstrated on the washboard before her. He did so quickly, keeping his eyes to the ground as Lafayette walked past with his basket. Eventually Lafayette found a tent surrounded by piles of clothes, all arranged neatly around a lone woman on a small stool. 

“Excuse me, Madame, are you one of the seamstresses in camp?” He asked the woman. It couldn’t have been more obvious, as her nose was pointed squarely at a pair of breeches she was hemming, but Lafayette did not want to drop the basket at her feet rudely. She looked up at him, a brief moment of panic in her eyes.

“Major General,” she said quickly, setting aside her work. “Yes I am. How may I help?” Lafayette squirmed uncomfortably, unsure how to ask for her assistance without it sounding like a firm order. He did not wish to threaten her, nor make her feel like his clothes were of utmost priority. He cleared his throat and gently placed the basket before her.

“I see you have a lot of work before you, so please do not rush. I have a few coats and shirt sleeves to be mended—“ He stopped short at the sound of a small cry, one coming from within the many layers of her clothing. From within the tattered cloak the woman wrapped around her the sound persisted, and she quickly parted the garment to take care of it; a baby. Small and newborn, wrapped in equally tattered cloth and nestled in a sling close to her breast. Lafayette let out a small coo at the sight of tiny hands and soft black curls. The woman lowered her gaze to the infant, but addressed Lafayette.

“I apologize, Major General. I shall get to your things right away.” Lafayette felt shame, obviously worrying the woman. But the sight of the baby had sparked his curiosity, and he knelt beside her in the snow. 

“May I hold him?” He asked quietly. To Lafayette’s surprise, the woman untied the sling and gently turned the baby over to him. It was a tiny thing, not even two weeks old. All bundled up, all that was visibly was a small face with a button nose, and one little hand that wriggled its way up to scratch at its cheek. “What a beautiful boy. What’s his name?” 

“John”

Lafayette smiled, carefully tucking the one small hand back within the safety of the cloth. “John. What a lovely boy.” The woman looked at Lafayette curiously, her lips pursed as if she was holding back a question. Lafayette spared her the embarrassment of asking. 

“You might have heard already that I am a visitor in more than one sense. That my home is the sea?” The woman nodded. “Well it is true. And though the papers paint me in an unflattering light, I can assure you that I am most at home here— with humans. And you, Madame, have a lovely child to come home to. You are very blessed.” 

Lafayette handed the child back to his mother, who swaddled him close against the cold. Rising from his knees, Lafayette looked back at laundry basket. “Might I have your name so I may find you again?”

“It is Beatrice Tanner, Major General.” 

“Beatrice Tanner, and little John Tanner. I hope to see you again soon.” 

* * *

For all the cruelty of winter, the human spirit proved to be a flame that could never go out. Lafayette took note of this as Christmas arrived to the Continental Army. Lafayette had heard of this day, sprinkled here and there in conversations between soldiers. The name brought smiles to the grim minded, and the women outside camp shared good memories of Christmas’ past. Had this been a prosperous winter, somewhere far from the ravages of war, Lafayette might have experienced the traditions they spoke of. Great feasts of meat and bread, good wine aplenty, and trinkets for those closest to you. It wasn’t uncommon for Lafayette to witness the faces of humans to fall into disappointment, realizing that this year would be a hard and hungry Christmas.

And yet they persevered. The winds had calmed on Christmas morning, greeting Lafayette with the sounds of carols. Soldiers around a campfire ringing in their day. Generous officers let their troops nip from their flask as a sign of giving. The meager rations handed out were greeted with some laughter, as men and pretended it was the hearty feast they knew came with the holiday. Others shared and swapped their plates, and traded the sweets and dried meats they had stored for a special occasion. It was something sweet and pure, and Lafayette could not help but join in.

His day started early as well, with a merry march down to the stream. In the rosy light of dawn the camp was stirring to life— no doubt with the help of caroling soldiers drunk off their gifted spirits. A few of them caught sight of Lafayette on his way by. 

“Major General Lafayette! A Merry Christmas to you, sir!” One shouted, lifting his tin cup. Another elbowed him sharply in the side, nearly causing him to spill his drink. 

“Mermaids don’t celebrate Christmas, you fool— wait, hold on—- Major General, do mermaids have a Christmas? Or only French mermaids?” 

“He’s not  _ French _ , he’s a  _ mermaid _ —-“

“He can be  _ both,  _ he  _ speaks it—-“ _

Lafayette rubbed his hands together for warmth, quickening his pace towards the stream. “I am both a mermaid and French by sovereign right, and celebrating my first human Christmas, gentlemen.” He said giddily. “And I am off to bring gifts.” One man furrowed his brow. 

“You can’t access the roads, Major General. I’m afraid if you’ve sent for something it’s been delayed due to snow.” 

Lafayette climbed a snowbank beside them, heaving himself over and headed down the gradual slope to the stream. “Not necessary. Do you gentlemen like fish?” The two perked up, scrambling to their feet, cups still in hand. 

“ We haven’t had fish in ages.” 

“Well you shall today if the catch is right.” 

Lafayette gingerly made his way to the water, the two men following with excitement, and causing quite the ruckus. “The Major General is going to fish! Come get your Christmas dinner boys!” Excited shouts echoed back as Lafayette neared the stream, and before he reached the muddy banks he had amassed quite the crowd. Perhaps ten to fifteen men, all eagerly awaiting what could only be their first time watching a mermaid fish. 

The banks were icy and slick, so the men stood back a few feet to avoid toppling over into the half frozen stream. The water itself was covered in a flaky layer of frost, and upon nudging it with the toe of his boot Lafayette found it was quite thin. He worked at it a minute until the ice broke apart and was carried away by the current. It was slow moving, and the stream was not too deep. Perhaps three feet, enough for a man to wade through; though no man here could do so without looking to catch his death. But Lafayette was no man, and it was time to prove that his presence was indeed a benevolent one. And what better way than to bring his soldiers fish for their holiday feast. 

Lafayette unfastened his cloak, dropping it to the ground before working to pull off his boots. He had expected the crowd to shy away as Washington had done, but to his surprise was greeted with drunken cheer and applause. “When does the fish part happen?” One man shouted as Lafayette shucked off his jacket.

“When I hit the water. The rest is all man.” Lafayette quipped. The men let out a joyous shout, raising their cups as a cacophonous ‘ _ OHHHHHH’  _ filled the air. Lafayette quickly finished his strip down, earning a few whistles as he hopped from one foot to the other on the frozen mud.

“He’s all man, ladies and gentlemen!”

Lafayette laughed heartily, bracing himself for the icy plunge as he slid into the stream. It did not take long for his tail to reform, his fins cracking through the flaky ice a few feet from the bank. The crowd gasped, as if only realizing now that Lafayette was truly real, and not some half drunken idiot looking for hypothermia. With a few swishes of his tail the ice was cleared, and Lafayette raised his fins out of the water to show them off to the men.

“And now I am half fish!” 

Another joyous cry rose through the morning air, the men overjoyed to have witnessed what most would call impossible. They braved the icy banks to come get a closer look, their faces rapt with childlike curiosity. “My grandad was a sailor, and we thought the sun scrambled his wits.” A young  man said, marveling at the opalescent shimmer of Lafayette’s tail. “I owe him an apology when I get home.” Lafayette splashed the water playfully, causing the men to stumble back in and uncoordinated mess of laughter and disbelief. 

“Who here is hungry?” Lafayette called out. All hands shot up, waving frantically. “I shall grab as many as I can. Once I do, gather what scraps you can to make a big stew.” And with that, Lafayette slipped below the surface in search of a meal.

As luck would have it, there were fish. Some swam lazily downstream, while others were half buried and frozen in the muddy banks of the stream. Catching them would be a breeze, and Lafayette grabbed them by the fistful. He surfaced, a wriggling fish in each hand, greeted by thunderous applause. In the time he had been under some of the men had called for their comrades, who came running with empty baskets. They packed the bottom tight with snow, and held them out for Lafayette as he drew near. Lafayette tossed the fish into the basket, watching them slap and wriggle against the sides. He dove down again, bringing more fish to the banks and into the waiting baskets of men. 

On the tenth or eleventh trip Lafayette called over a young private, asking him to prepare two separate baskets for himself. “One shall be for General Washington. The other you must take to the women and children outside camp.” The boy did as he was told, packing snow into two small baskets. The basket for Washington was filled with three large fish, but as Lafayette dove down into the water it had become much harder to grasp a good catch. The fish were too small, and not sustainable for humans. Others looked sickly, with no meat. He could only find one large fish. 

Lafayette surfaced, his expression grim. One of the men broke off from the celebration, taking note of Lafayette’s dismay. “Major General, are you alright?”

Lafayette sighed. “Yes. It is just...winter. The fish are not as abundant as I would have hoped. There’s hardly any to give to the soldiers, let alone the camp followers.” The men took pause, looking at their catch. Between all their baskets, Lafayette had caught twenty four fish. Twenty four fish, and thousands of hungry mouths to feed. One man shifted the weight of the basket on his arm. From his coat Lafayette could tell he was a captain. 

“It’s twenty-odd more fish than we had this morning. And we’ll be sure to get as many men to throw in scraps for the stew is possible, right boys?” A rumble of agreement rippled through the crowd, and Lafayette felt tears stinging his eyes. He wished he could feed more. He wished they had to haul his catch back on carts, and that every man would be stuffing salted fish into his satchel before a march. But this was just a little stream in winter, and Lafayette was just one man in thousands helpless to provide. 

And in that moment of despair, Lafayette watched one man throw one of his fish into the basket for the women, wishing his wife and child a Merry Christmas. A few more mimicked the act, tossing three more fish into the basket for those they had not spent a night with since their enlistment. These men could not provide for their families, shamed by a congress that snubbed them of their wages. But here they were tossing their first fresh meal in weeks into a basket, and sending it off to their loved ones. A private picked up the basket, ready to deliver it to the followers just beyond camp.

“May God help you if that basket ends up anywhere but the wives’ tent.” The captain warned, earning a frightened ‘ _ yes sir’ _ from his subordinate. Lafayette pulled himself from the stream, and a soldier wrapped his discarded cloak around him. 

“Thank you, Major General.” 

A chorus of thank-you’s echoed, the soldiers with free hands handing Lafayette his clothing so he could quickly redress in the bitter cold. His skin was pink and goose pimpled, teeth chattering slightly as the wind once again picked up. In a few moments he was sloppily dressed, his clothes sticking to him awkwardly. One man handed him a flask and instructed him to drink deeply. It was whiskey, and in a flash his throat and stomach felt warm. 

Lafayette clomped awkwardly back up the hill with them, his basket of fish in hand. The men split up at camp, scrambling to find food scraps to add to a hearty fish stew, leaving Lafayette to make his way to Washington’s tent. From outside Lafayette could spy movement back and forth from inside. Washington was pacing, thinking. Merrily, Lafayette parted the flaps and entered. Washington whipped around, his face set with concern.

“Lafayette! Dear boy, what’s happened? You’re soaked!” Indeed he was. His boots squished noisily, hair a damp and dripping mess, with frost in his eyelashes and a shirt that stuck to him so closely it was as good as a second skin. But Lafayette held out his basket proudly, displaying three large fish, a wide grin upon his face. Washington stared at it a moment, the thoughts lining up in his mind as he looked from the glassy eyed fish in the basket, then up to Lafayette. And though no one would believe it when Lafayette retold the story, Washington broke down into gleeful laughter. 

* * *

Unfortunately, cause for celebration was brief. Christmas night a storm rolled in to camp, bringing with it an icy wind that threatened to tear the tent posts out of the ground.  Washington had received a report from a scout before it happened, detailing the brutal winter conditions the rest of the army on the march faced. Lafayette set aside his fork and knife, resting them on the bloody plate beside the fish he was picking at. The wind outside had already begun to howl, whipping violently against the tent.

“General Washington, sir, the storm will be fierce. I urge you to retire to the house.” A voice piped up. Lafayette turned to spy Billy Lee, one of Washington’s personal servants. He had come in from the cold, snow already crowning his head in a soft melting halo. “I will bring any work you need to your quarters.” Washington picked at his food bitterly, the report quivering in one hand. Another round of wind slammed the sides of the tent, causing the posts to groan. Lafayette shifted in his seat uneasily.

“Billy Lee is right, Your Excellency. It would do you no good to have the tent collapse on your head.” He said, his voice strained with fright. Washington eyed Lafayette, noting the fear across his face, and resigned. 

“William, take as many letters as you can carry. I shall bring them to bed.” He said, rising to his feet. Lafayette gathered his own armful of letters, shoving them into a rucksack before throwing on his cloak to brave the walk to the house. Beyond the thin canvas of the tent the field was dark as pitch, and by their lantern all that could be seen was snow whipped into a frenzy. The campfires lay unattended, the men hunkered in their small tents, huddled for warmth. Lafayette shuddered violently, following Washington closely as they headed to the house. Fresh snow had piled up, and Lafayette found it much easier to tread in the foot tracks Washington lay before him— though he must widen his stride to do so. 

By the time Washington had shouldered the wooden door open, Lafayette’s face was streaked in tears. The cold stung his cheeks mercilessly, and his brow felt frozen in place. The house was not much better. Lafayette noticed his breath hanging in the air in front of him, the downstairs fires unlit.

“My apologies, General. Good firewood is scarce. I’ve stoked the hearth in your quarters, so it should be nice and warm.” Billy Lee said, heading up the stairs. Lafayette followed, though he stopped at Hamilton’s door to drop off some letters. Inside was quiet conversation, and Lafayette created open the door to find Hamilton and Laurens huddled under their blankets and cloaks. The two single cots had been pushed together to face a brazier, and a spare set of breeches was shoved under the windowsill. 

“If your cot is by the window I suggest you move it.” Laurens said. He had a journal in his lap, quill scratching dryly against the page. “And plug up any holes. The draft is deadly.” Lafayette hummed, fishing the stack of letters for Hamilton from his rucksack.

“I shall do it. Alexander, more for you. Perhaps you could persuade congress better than I.” Hamilton took the letters with an exasperated sigh, thumbing through the stack to view the names.

“This should be fun. Thank you, my friend. And for the fish as well.” Lafayette smiled, closing the door behind him before heading to his shared room. 

Washington was already inside, and despite the stack of letters piled high on the desk, he was wearily undressing for bed. Lafayette entered the room silently, not wanting to disturb him from his thoughts. Washington sighed deeply, gazing into the fire as he undid his vest. “I hate taking work back to my room. Once I’m in sight of a bed all hope is lost.” He said, barely a whisper. He looked pained, so lost in his own mind that his body merely went through the motions of preparing for bed. Lafayette went about his business as well, plugging the crack beneath the window with an old scarf, and moving his cot closer to the hearth. 

As per their agreement, Washington was first to retire, and therefore slipped beneath the heavy quilt of the full bed. Lafayette had no intention of making his commander sleep on a bare cot in the cold, and happily stripped to his shirtsleeves before climbing beneath a thin blanket and cloak. There was silence for a long while, and Lafayette curled into a tight ball to wait for warmth to come. 

It did not. Though his cot was nearer to the flames, the warmth of the fireplace was overpowered by the draft from the window. It was a heavy blanket of cold that crept further with every passing breeze. His scarf had done little to stop it. Still, Lafayette curled tight, his flesh atingle and teeth chattering. 

A few minutes later came a similar sound from the bed, with Washington stirring in his spot. The man drew his knees to his chest, tucking the quilt under him tight. And yet the oppressive cold disturbed him from sleep, and caused him to fidget. Finally, Lafayette spied him poking his head up over the quilt.

“Lafayette, dear boy.” Lafayette’s pulse quickened.

“Yes, sir?”

Washington fidgeted again, though this time with the same shyness Lafayette had come to adore. “The night is cold, and if it is unbearable for me I can only imagine how hard it is for you.” He paused, hoping to read Lafayette’s expression. “Would...would it be too forward to ask you to share my bed?” He asked, his voice hoarse. Share the bed? Why that seemed fine. He had seen Hamilton and Laurens push their cots together not forty minutes ago. And in this bitter cold, the idea of pressing against a soft warm body was reason enough to share anything. 

“Not forward at all. I’d gladly do so.” 

Lafayette sprung up from his cot, gathering his blanket and cloak. He tossed them onto the bed, where Washington smoothed them out of a crumpled heap. Lafayette studied Washington as he climbed into bed, his shirt hiking up his bare thighs. For a man stricken with cold, his cheeks looked awfully pink and flushed. But so must be his, and the cold did curious things to human flesh. Beneath the quilt Lafayette felt the cool touch of bed clothes, his legs grazing across them as he scooted towards Washington’s side of the bed. 

Washington’s side was indeed warm. Hot, even, like someone had touched an iron to it. His legs brushed against the older man’s, eliciting a small hiss of surprise. “Dear boy, you’re freezing.” Washington said, turning the bulk of his body to face Lafayette. An arm came around Lafayette’s shoulder, gently guiding him to the warmth of Washington’s side. Lafayette needed no other invitation, tucking himself beneath the man’s arm so that his cheek rested against his breast. 

The sting of cold dissolved from Lafayette’s limbs, his aches melting into a puddle of warmth as he lay against Washington. Exploring the heat, Lafayette rolled his feet slowly, as if treading some unseen current. Under these sheets he was a river, wrapping himself around the steady rock that was his commander. It was safe, secure. Oh so warm. Washington’s hand settled on his back, and Lafayette’s wandered in an endless trail from Washington’s chest, down to the soft swell of his stomach. His palm heated up beneath him,dragging the fine fabric of Washington’s shirt with it. 

And through it all, Lafayette kept his ear pressed hard to Washington’s breast, listening to the quickening tick of his heart, and the steady fall of his breath. “Goodnight, dear General.” Lafayette mumbled, his mind slipping into the heavy haze of sleep. Above him Washington shifted, his lips grazing the top of his head before resting his chin in the soft red curls he found there. 

“Sweet dreams, little fish.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me through this little hiatus. My semester finally ended so I can go back to writing for the next couple weeks. I hope you enjoyed some belated holiday cheer! As always I love to hear from you, so leave a comment!


	11. Waivering faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for death/death mention

The weeks following the new year were dark and cold. Washington had ordered the men to do limited drilling, instead focusing their short-lived energy on collecting necessities. Men would be sent out to try and secure goods for camp, others ordered to split the firewood necessary to keep the camp going through the night. Each party that was sent out came back smaller, and Washington began to fear that soldiers were volunteering for hikes to execute plans of desertion. Lafayette couldn’t blame them. The cold was brutal, but it had the mercy of killing men quickly. In the weeks since their encampment Lafayette had stumbled across at least two dozen men claimed by the cold. They grew exhausted on hikes, and sat in the snow banks to catch their breath, only to close their eyes and never open them again. Some lay curled as if in sleep, arms wrapped tight around themselves. Others simply did not wake in their tents. 

Lafayette wondered about these men, their thoughts in the final moments of their lives. Did they know their time had come, or did they struggle to return to their feet? Did they look to men who fought the cold, who earned frostbitten limbs and fever fits, and choose to succumb to the elements? It was hard to think about, especially when the sight of a coat or leg in the snow meant that another man had slipped away. His clothes would be patched up and redistributed. His body buried quietly. And more would join him by the end of the day. 

To make matters worse, land was much more perilous than the sea. It was teeming with bugs and disease, too powerful and fierce to fend off. There was lice, which infested the bed rolls and caused the men to scratch their scalps bloody. Lafayette had been instructed to stay away from men who scratched too vigorously, as they were likely to contract typhus. He saw quite a few cases spark as the days rolled by, with men being carted to the medical tents almost at death’s door. But it paled in comparison to the other diseases ravaging the camp. Typhoid fever, dysentery, things born from filth that seemed determined to reduce men into filth. The river was frozen, and the snow piled high, but the water collected was contaminated with animal waste. The afflicted men were doubled over in pain, abdomens clenched in an unseen horror Lafayette could never imagine. Without clean spaces for them to heal they soon expired. 

The smell was horrendous, hundreds of men at a time stricken with disease that further compromised the cleanliness of the camp. Lafayette wrote to Congress, hoping first hand accounts would will them to loosen their purse strings and provide aid, but the battle for resources raged on. Their funds were stretched too thin, and whatever treasure Lafayette had already dredged up from his cavern in the fall did little good. Roads were blocked by snow and debris. Merchants turned away service solely due to association with patriots. Desperate men absconded with large portions of supplies that did make it through, sometimes fleeing into the woods with new boots and warm cloaks. 

And through it all Washington’s faith began to waiver. In front of the men he was strong, ever vigilant. In the privacy of their quarters he was a different man. Lafayette could sense it as their evening drew to an end, their glasses holding only dribbles of wine. Washington was hunched over his desk, hands shaking slightly as he wrote. By the look on his face, Lafayette could tell he was penning a message home to his mate, Martha. He only trembled when he wrote to her, undoubtedly wracked with emotions he worked so hard to conceal in his public life. That day had been a long one, and the list of departed men heftier than usual. 

From his spot by the fire, Lafayette caught a glimpse of tears in Washington’s eyes, and he could only imagine the words scribbled on the page. Perhaps they were full of longing and homesickness. Or perhaps he called upon a social favor from his wife, and felt imposing. Either way, the letter was folded in trembling fingers, and placed in the nightside table before any tears were shed. Lafayette put down the book Hamilton had lent him, and took the cue to resign to bed.

With the cold snap still in full swing, Washington still offered his bed to share, and Lafayette eagerly climbed in to await his commander. He was not Washington’s mate, of course, but Lafayette noticed how social humans were. How much they longed for touch, and for companionship. So when Washington slipped beneath the sheets, Lafayette pressed up beside him quickly. 

“You’ve written to Lady Washington?” Lafayette asked. He hoped the mention of her name would bring a playful smile to his lips, but instead they remained pulled straight in a thin line. 

“I have. And once more I ask her to burden herself.” Lafayette lay a hand on Washington’s chest, and Washington lay a hand on his in turn. “I have asked for more money, and I know she will send it.” Lafayette hummed.

“We need more money.”

“But it is not  _ my _ money. It is hers. Her estate from when she was widowed. I asked her to lend me more of her fortune, and for what? Men who desert. Supplies nicked by bandits. A beaten down army too slow to outrun the British this spring. She will gamble her livelihood on this army, on my mistakes.”  His hand clenched, squeezing Lafayette’s fingers tight. “Our children, our  _ grandchildren. _ Must they suffer because I am incapable of leading?” Washington fell silent, retreating into his thoughts as he continued to grasp Lafayette tight. Beneath his palm, Lafayette could feel the frantic beat of his heart, and his own broke into pieces. How could he not? Washington must lead more than one front; the army, his family, his country. He is one man, drawn in countless directions beyond his control. It was more than one fish and a fistful of coins could remedy. But what more could Lafayette do, except offer himself to give him just a moment’s rest.

“You are a fine leader, dear General. Your heart goes out to your men and your family. It is not a weak trait, but an admirable one. I have walked the camps. They know Congress neglects them, but still meager supplies come through. They hear that your fortune brings them food, and clothes, however scarce. It would be more shameful for you to sit on your hands and wait for help, than to offer what little you can.” Lafayette said. He pressed his cheek to Washington’s shoulder to gaze up at him. Washington’s grasp softened, as did his frown, but his face was still wrought with worry.

“And you, dear boy...you don’t despise me for keeping you here? Close to camp, away from the sea?” 

Lafayette felt a pang of sadness. Washington wasn’t asking if Lafayette missed the sea, he was asking if he would leave him too. Would he flee into the night, leaving a cold bed and no letter. Afterall, Lafayette had no true obligation to allegiance. He was a nationless being, whose time would be better spent in the surf— not here among the stagnant and dying. Once the novelty of war wore off he could have slipped into a river and been on his way. But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dream of it. 

Lafayette raised himself up, planting a long gentle kiss on Washington’s cheek. His skin felt hot on his lips, and Lafayette smiled playfully against the rough stubble dappling Washington’s cheek. 

“Never, dear General. I promised you my part until the war is done, and I am here to serve.” Washington was flushed pink as Lafayette pulled away, a look Lafayette found incredibly charming. Lost in his thoughts once more, Washington went through some rather unnecessary motions before lights out. He undid his hair— a rarity that Lafayette adored— and brushed it out briskly. He fidgeted with his shirt, and smoothed the blankets out over them, all with slightly trembling hands. Lafayette smiled as Washington reached over to tamp out the candle. 

“Goodnight, dear boy.” 

* * *

 

February felt just as cold as January, but the men seemed positive that there would only be a handful more weeks of unbearable cold before the first thaw. It was in this spirit of hope that Lafayette had decided to make the trip to the follower camp, and loosely uphold some of the duties performed there. He enjoyed speaking with the women, learning how humans made everyday life work. Even in the barebones conditions of camp, the women had managed to thrive. 

Last he visited, he was invited to a sewing circle. He spent an hour huddled around in a tent fashioned from tattered canvas and quilts, trying hopelessly to thread a needle as the women around him giggled and mended socks. He successfully mended one, albeit poorly. The stitches were crooked and uneven, and when Lafayette slipped his hand into the sock to admire his work he saw gaps, but he had done it! He then promptly handed the sock to someone who could get it in good condition, and promised to work on his stitching. Lafayette hoped that this time he’d learn a new human skill. Perhaps to prepare bread or forage. 

It had begun to snow again, promising to cover the forest floor. The sounds of camp filtered through the trees, and soon Lafayette was among the lean-to shelters and strung up tents of the camp followers. By now the women in this part of the woods were familiar with him, and they didn’t hasten to look busy or rope their children into chores. Lafayette reached into the sack he had brought with him, taking out a few small fish he caught from the river and salted, and handed them around. 

“Fresh catch, Major General?” A woman asked. Lafayette smiled, and passed a fish over the little work table she hunched over. She took it happily, and in return handed something back over to him. It was an old piece of cutlery— a spoon. Only the curved top had been notched, and was now slightly pronged. Lafayette looked it over with rapturous glee.

“What is it for?”

“To comb your hair—“ she stopped the jest as Lafayette raised the piece to his curls “—-to  _ eat with,  _ Major General. Good utensils are hard to come by. This way you can have your stew and your meats.” Lafayette was in awe. Here he had thought he had mastered the human experience. He had dined in their homes, slept in their beds,  _ wonderfully _ mastered their clothes, but humans were also still innovating their way of life. Where they lacked the natural impulse to migrate, or intuitively navigate, they created the tools to do so. They harnessed fire, used it to prepare their meals, and even perfected the way to dine! How splendid! 

“You may keep it, Major General, as payment for the fish.” The woman said, wiping her hands on the rough fabric of her cloak. Lafayette tucked the utensil into his jacket, and thanked her profusely. Today was already shaping up to be an interesting one. 

It was not uncommon for men to be seen sneaking in and out of the camp. They slipped away from their duties for quick reunions with their wives, and covered the men who stood watch when it was their turn. Washington was firmly against it. He felt the mingling of soldiers and followers led to a disorderly army. If alarms were raised, and the men were off enjoying their marital perks, they could put other men at risk. It pinballed disease back and forth between camps, never fully snuffing out an outbreak. It stretched supplies thinner, and risked creating extra mouths to feed. Judging by the swelling bellies beneath the cloaks of some women, Lafayette knew these fears to be true. But on a deeper level, there was no stopping it. The men fought for their families, and when war uprooted their homes, they took what little comforts of home with them. So it wasn’t at all strange when Lafayette saw a man rustling about the tent where Mrs. Tanner and baby John lived. 

The man in question wore ragged civilian clothes, with a dirtied continental jacket that looked as though it was on its third owner. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, grabbing things from the tent to pile into the snow. As Lafayette neared he could tell the man was crying, and a gaggle of neighbors lingered nearby looking grim. Lafayette recognized one of the women who taught him to sew, and approached her. 

“What’s happened?” 

The woman sighed, her hands busy wringing out a pair of stockings. “Something awful, poor thing. Captain Tanner’s wife and child passed.” Lafayette felt his heart drop into his stomach. 

“ _Passed?_ _How?”_

“Hunger and the cold. We couldn’t spare Mrs.Tanner extra food, and she couldn’t feed the boy. John passed away three days ago. Mrs. Tanner yesterday from fever.” 

Lafayette spied a few of the items Captain Tanner had placed outside the tent: a necklace, two journals,and a small pair of knitted booties. There was little he could take with him in his pack. A few days and miserable conditions, and a man had lost his family. Not just his family...his home. Through the flap of the tent Lafayette could see the leftovers of their life together. Old worn clothes and blankets, silverware and tin plates.

In these silent moments the surrounding crowd felt predatory. Lafayette spotted more than one covetous glance picking part the Tanners’ possessions. Desperate, hungry people looking for something to sell, or an extra layer to crawl beneath. Lafayette felt something awful bubble up in his throat, and his feet felt on fire. He needed to leave here. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t be a part of the crowd that bore witness to this man’s pain.

“Major General Lafayette.” 

To his dismay, Captain Tanner had approached him, his arms clutching the few possessions he could hold. His eyes were brimmed red, and his cheeks streaked with tears. Lafayette steadied himself, trying not to give in to the urge to flee. 

“My wife spoke often of your visits. I couldn’t get away from my duties as often as I’d like. When I came she was already…” He fell silent. Lafayette struggled to hold the man’s mournful gaze, his own eyes misting with tears. Captain Tanner offered his hand, and Lafayette took it firmly. He squeezed Captain Tanner’s hand tight, and felt the man squeeze back. There was not much else he could offer for comfort here. 

The next thing Lafayette remembered was rushing back to the camp, his eyes wet with tears. His feet would not stop for anything. Not for soldiers calling out after him, or the pain of walking on land. It was as though he were trying to race the horrible thoughts in his mind; little baby John crying, his mother equally miserable. The fact that he too was not able to slip away to the camps as often as he’d like. How Beatrice and her boy wouldn’t be the only ones suffering. That a few fish in a basket were not enough. It was a heavy, unbearable weight on his heart, and it broke him entirely.

Unfortunately there was still work to be done, though Lafayette’s heart was not in it. He wrote his letters, hopeless pleas that would seldom get returned. He did his rounds and helped men in the camp. At dinner he was silent, letting Hamilton and Laurens dominate the discussion around the table. Washington eyed him with concern, but thankfully did not make public issue of his silence. Lafayette poked miserably at his food. How on earth could he voice his heartbreak without sounding foolish. This was war, and it was out of him domain. Perhaps he was a fool for believing he could lessen its horrors.

Looking around, Lafayette could see his fellow officers nearing the end of their meal, and though he wasn’t very hungry he finished his own plate quickly. He could not afford to have a wasted plate on his conscious as well. After the plates were cleared Washington produced a bottle of fortified wine, and went to pour four glasses. Lafayette held his hand up in polite refusal. 

“I am feeling a bit under the weather, your excellency. I think it best I retire.” He said, his voice sounding weaker than usual. Washington set down the fourth glass cautiously, looking Lafayette up and down. There was something probing about his stare, as if he was picking Lafayette apart piece by piece to pinpoint the problem. Lafayette turned his attention to his hands, picking at his nail anxiously as he awaited approval to leave.

“Very well, dear Marquis. I shall be sending Billy up with some tea.” Lafayette murmured a thank-you and hurried upstairs, all too aware of the eyes on his back as he did so.

Billy Lee arrived with tea as promised, just as Lafayette was pulling off his boots by the fire. The man rested an old silver tray on the nightstand, and out of the corner of his eye Lafayette spied a small teapot, complete with cream and sugar. He poured out a cup, adding a dash of cream and three lumps of sugar to the piping hot tea. It’s sickly sweet scent tickled Lafayette’s nose, and tempted him to ready for bed faster.

“General Washington has instructed me to add some more wood to the fire to help keep out the cold.” He said, prodding at the already glowing firewood with an iron poker. “Though, if you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look all that sick to me. A little tired, but ain’t we all.” Lafayette crawled into bed, scooting to the night table  so he could sip his tea.

“Everything aches.” He mumbled, “Perhaps I  _ am _ just tired.” There was a solid  _ thunk _ as a split log was added to the fire, and Billy Lee fed crumpled spare paper to the flame. 

“A good sleep does wonders. Rests your mind, your soul. By the looks of it, you won’t even hear the General come to bed.” Lafayette drained his cup, hoping the warmth would chase the cold dread brewing in his belly. He did not wish to burden Washington with his silly heartbreak. Going promptly to sleep would be the best way to avoid that. Lafayette squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face into the pillow. Billy Lee finished stoking the fire, and picked the tray up from the night table. 

“Have a goodnight, Major General. This will all be better tomorrow morning.” 

Lafayette sighed into his pillow, tears returning to his eyes. “Goodnight, good sir. And thank you for the tea.” The door closed a moment later, and Lafayette lifted his head to find himself alone in the room. A little sleep and all would be well once again. But every time Lafayette closed his eyes he saw pain. The image of Captain Tanner collecting his things was burned into his mind, and it would not let him rest. That heartbreak was painted on the insides of his eyelids, and Lafayette spent the better part of an hour staring at the wall opposite him, unblinking. 

That is, of course, until he heard heavy footfall coming up the narrow stairs. Icy panic gripped Lafayette, and he pulled the covers up past his ears, curling into a tight ball on his side. The door creaked open. There were familiar sounds; Washington removing his jacket, the sound of his chair scraping against the floor as he removed his boots. Lafayette squeezed his eyes shut, hoping now more than ever that sleep would take him. Cruelly, it did not, and he was forced to remain still and silent as Washington crawled into bed. For a long moment it looked as if nothing would be discussed, but then came the small sound of sigh, and a hand rested on Lafayette’s shoulder. 

“I know you are not sleeping, dear boy, and I would not disturb you if I did not feel such an...unease at your melancholy. It is unlike you.” Lafayette unfolded himself from the knot he had twisted into, turning over meekly to face his commander. Washington sat beside him propped up by pillows. He did not look particularly angry to Lafayette, but wracked with worry. Lafayette’s stomach knotted into the tight ball his body could not. 

“I apologize, dear General, I am not myself.” Lafayette croaked.  His own voice sounded foreign. It was hard to look Washington in the face and deny the depth of his pain. How could Lafayette play sick when there were those truly suffering? How could he expect a day in bed to mend his poor heart? Not to mention Washington had the world in his hands. What would the heartache of one little mermaid be in comparison to the duties he must perform day in and day out. 

It was the warmth that stung Lafayette the most. The knowledge that his dear, sweet General could see his pain, and was extending a hand for comfort. But by unburdening himself, he adds another worry to Washington’s ever growing list. He could not...would not…

“I can see you are not yourself, and I wonder what ails you so.” Washington reached out, his fingers brushing away a curl from Lafayette’s face. Lafayette could not stop the tears from springing to his eyes, the concerned expression on Washington’s face dissolving into a hazy blur. “Dear boy, what’s happened?” Washington said. 

His voice was too soft. Too gentle and patient. It was no use. Lafayette broke down in sobs, spilling the details of the whole tragic tale. The followers camp, the fish he would bring, the family torn apart. It all came out in one hideous mess, strung together by wails that clawed their way from his chest. Lafayette’s face was hot with shame, his sleeve dampened by the tears and snot he desperately tried to wipe away. And through the whole ordeal Washington remained silent, limiting his comfort to physical touch. A hand on his shoulder, slinking down to an arm around the waist, pulling him close. Lafayette buried himself in the crook of Washington’s neck, letting go of the hiccuping sobs that made his chest hurt. He was  _ sorry _ , but for what exactly he could not say. Nothing about it felt fair. Nothing could be done to fix the awful he had seen. Finally, as the sobs died down to sniffles, Washington spoke.

“My Dear Lafayette, you are so generous with your heart. You see a soul in need and you give them your hand. But some things are beyond our control.” Washington said. He spoke low, his lips nearly pressed to Lafayette’s ear.

“I pray that this does not steal that generosity from you. A good heart is hard to come by. As you have been so willing to share my pain, I share yours. If we wish to survive this winter, it is important we do not stand alone. Do you understand?” 

Lafayette understood a few things. That this winter was a nightmare, and each morning fewer woke from it. That life on land was cruel. That sometimes the only thing keeping men from breaking was the man beside them. Lafayette wanted to be that man for Washington. He had been this entire winter. And now as his soul threatened to shatter, Washington was by his side. Lafayette sniffled pitifully and nodded against Washington’s neck.

“Let us sleep, little fish. Tomorrow we will face this together.”

They sank back into the pillows, silently praying that tomorrow would come without tragedy. It fell on deaf ears. Valley Forge would claim two thousand lives. 

* * *

There was not all despair, Lafayette learned. In late-February a letter was sent informing Washington that his wife, the Lady Martha Washington, would be visiting the camp. Over breakfast Washington read the letter over and over, his eyes lit up with excitement.

“Martha has heard much about you, Lafayette. She wishes to meet you right away.” Washington beamed. Hamilton walked by the table, his arms laden with books.

“And me? You  _ have _ passed along my letters—“

“ _ Yes,  _ Alexander. She knows.” 

Over the course of the next few days the house was prepared for their guest. The creaky floors were patched, linens changed, and windows cleaned. Washington ordered curtains, which were curiously hung from the long posts around their bed. He even fussed over his hair, working before the mirror with intense concentration. Lafayette found it all rather charming. After so many years together Washington still primped and preened, readying himself for the arrival of his mate. Even the quarters, it seemed, were to be rearranged. 

On the eve of Martha’s arrival, Washington crawled into bed alongside Lafayette as he brushed out his hair. It was evident there was something to discuss, though Washington struggled to bring it up. 

“Lafayette, I must ask something of you.” He said, staring at his hands. Lafayette smiled, though he was working out a particularly tough knot in his curls.

“Ask, I am all yours.” 

Washington squirmed, a little uncomfortable. “As you know, Martha arrives tomorrow. And I must insist that we...we have some privacy come bedtime.” Lafayette set his brush down. Well of course there would be privacy. The curtains Washington hung were sturdy, and kept the light of the fire out. His cot would be in the corner facing the wall. But, to be sure—-

“I shall sleep on the cot?” He asked. Washington flushed red. 

“Yes, on the cot...down the hall with Hamilton and Laurens. A man and his wife apart for so long have certain  _ needs _ .  _ Privacy _ being one of them.” 

Lafayette was unsure why the subject made Washington so bashful. He was married, and from what Lafayette gathered on human life, mating habits were encouraged. Not at all shameful once two humans were committed. But, then again, humans considered themselves nude without their jacket, and so Lafayette chalked this up to another matter of modesty. 

“Of course, dear General! It will be like I was never here.” Lafayette chirped. He wondered if Washington was this shy with Martha, or if their years together had shaped him into a more openly passionate man. Whichever it was, it was carefully guarded by the privacy he requested. And Lafayette was more than happy to oblige. 

* * *

The next morning Lafayette found himself lined up outside the house awaiting Martha’s carriage. Standing in the snow, back straight and shoulders squared, Lafayette could hardly contain his excitement. Martha was a name he knew well. Throughout his budding friendship with Washington, her name had been a thread that connected Washington to life outside the war. In spirit, she was a guest at their table each night. And every morning Washington spoke of her over breakfast as he read the latest news from home. 

It did not occur to Lafayette until just then that he had no idea how Martha would react to him. She adored Washington, clearly, and had already met Hamilton the previous winter. But Lafayette was not another officer in her husband’s army. He was something strange. Martha undoubtedly knew he was a mermaid by now. Lafayette couldn’t help but remember the way Marie Antoinette coaxed him onto the dance floor, only to publicly humiliate him. The Martha he knew from letters didn’t seem the type, but then again, she hadn’t met him yet. 

The sight of the carriage almost made Lafayette faint, but he held it together as it rolled towards them. What he saw was...well definitely not what he expected.

Seated in the back of the carriage, wrapped in a winter cloak, was Martha. Washington perked up at the sight of her, rushing to help her down from the carriage. She was short, so much so that Washington towered over her by a foot. Where Marie Antoinette had been a thin, delicate woman, Martha was plump and stout, but undeniably warm. Motherly. Lafayette felt some of his fear melt away at the sight of her. 

“Martha, may I introduce you to the Marquis de Lafayette. One of our greatest allies.” And just like that Lafayette was face to face with her, though she had to crane her neck considerably to do so. Lafayette smiled at the sight of her rounded face, and admired the dark, silver streaked curls poking from beneath her bonnet. 

“Marquis, my husband speaks fondly of you. Your bravery at Brandywine is well known.” Lafayette took her hand, and bowed his head.

“And I have heard much of your command at Mount Vernon. If I am not mistaken, your son Jack has welcomed another little girl to the family?” Lafayette said. He quite clearly remembered the letter arriving after New Year’s, informing Washington that a beautiful new child had arrived in their family. There was a special bottle of rum tucked away for the occasion, and Lafayette was treated to a nip of it as Washington read all about the new baby Patty, and how her slightly older sister Elizabeth was taking to being a big sister. 

“That we have. Patty is a beautiful little girl. Jack had hoped for a boy, seeing as he already had Elizabeth but, well, that’s not up to him.” Martha said with a wink. Washington linked arms with her guiding the conversation towards the house.

“He is still young. I suspect Mount Vernon will be overrun with babies—boy and girl— before this war is through.” Washington said. Martha huffed, swatting at his stomach playfully. It caught the officers off guard, as Washington seemed to be too stern for playfulness. 

“All the more reason to win this war quickly. I need all hands to take care of those children.” 

“Yes, m’am.” 

They headed inside to the parlor, where the fire had been stoked for the first time in weeks. It was the only time Lafayette felt warm enough to hang his cloak during the entirety of his winter there. Martha seated herself comfortably on the small couch, and Billy Lee was sent to bring in some tea. Hamilton and Washington settled in to two chairs by the fire, leaving an empty space beside Martha on the couch. Lafayette toed at the floorboards nervously, unsure whether it was more polite to stand or join her. His turmoil ceased, however, as Martha tapped her hand on the cushion beside her. 

“Sit down, Marquis, I have much to ask you.” 

Lafayette blushed, taking a seat beside the woman. “Please, Madame, you may call me Lafayette.” Lafayette said. It didn’t come out as confidently as he liked. He sounded more like a scared child than a socialite, but Martha seemed to gloss over it.

“As long as you call me Martha— as all you boys should.” She directed this to Hamilton, who smiled over the brim of his tea cup. Washington stirred his tea a little quicker.

“As long as the men are  _ respectful _ ” he added, which effectively wiped the silly smile off of Hamilton’s face. Another pot of tea was brought out on a silver tray, and placed on the short wooden table in front of the couch. Lafayette watched as Martha poured two cups; one for herself, and one for Lafayette. Before the words could rise in his throat, Martha had lifted the lid on a dainty sugar pot, and scooped three heaping teaspoons into Lafayette’s cup before giving it a good stir.

“My husband has told me about your sweet tooth” she said before handing the steaming cup over. Lafayette took it eagerly, trying hard not to let the  tea cup rattle with his nerves. He took a small sip. It was sweet and bold, just the way he liked it. The way he liked most human things. Sweet, flavorful, and hot to the touch. If he were not in the company of a lady, Lafayette would have wrapped his hands around the cup, soaking up the every second of its warmth. But for now he would settle with holding the cup daintily by its handle, with his saucer poised beneath to catch any spills. 

“It is marvelous, thank you.” Lafayette said. As he indulged in a longer sip, Martha shared a glance with Washington. A little nod was passed between them, as if they both silently expected Lafayette to enjoy it. It was a little embarrassing to be so predictable, but that’s what made him so easy to please. Lafayette sipped again, and hoped to blame his flushed cheeks on the hot tea. In the meantime, it seemed that the little pleasantries had run their course, and Martha’s burning curiosity took over. 

“Dear Lafayette, if you don’t mind me asking, what brought you onto land? Surely your life in the sea was blissful. Why venture so far from home, and on war ravaged shores?” Martha asked. Her eyes were wide with interest, and Lafayette found himself gripping his tea cup slightly tighter. 

There was a feeling in his chest, tight and constricting. It was as though the air was sucked from the room, and it forced Lafayette to hold his breath. His eyes darted over to Washington, who had leaned forward in his chair with anticipation. It occurred to Lafayette that he didn’t  _ know.  _ Lafayette had once spun a tale of injustice and a quest for liberty, when Washington believed him to be a human Marquis. But since his reveal Washington had remained silent on the matter. Perhaps he feared Lafayette’s kind, and felt that pestering him would evoke some wrathful godlike fury. But they were closer than that. So much closer...

As Lafayette looked at Washington seated in his chair. His eyes lingered on his jaw, the careful set of his hair, steely blue eyes that watched him with an unfathomable sense of awe. That tightness in his chest gave way to something else. A blooming, warmth that flickered like the light of a candle. It was so small, but even now it had the potential to grow and overtake him. Lafayette licked at his dry lips and spoke. 

“This place is a world I never could have dreamed of. Beneath the waves things continue unchanged, as we have followed our instinct since the dawn of our creation. But up here there is something different, something  _ breathtaking. _ Your kind innovate, they find new ways to ease the burdens of everyday life. Ships, medicines, sextants, and compasses. You envision futures past your lifespan, and run headlong into battle to secure it…” Lafayette broke his gaze away from Washington, opting to look at the floorboards. 

“I must admit, I was surprised. I had been scorned before. Hurt so deeply in ways I wish to never revisit. But I saw something inspiring in these colonies, on the lips of men in the harbors, and on your husband as he slipped across the Delaware. And though I am shy to admit it, I have never felt so at home in the sea as I do among men—- when they’re not writing recipes on how to prepare me for supper, of course.” 

The room let out a collective chuckle, and Martha set aside her teacup to take Lafayette’s hand. “Then let me be the first to invite you into our home, whenever you and George can spare the time.” 

It was an invitation, one Lafayette had been extended many times as a Marquis and a mermaid, but it was so much more. Mount Vernon was Washington’s pride and joy. He built his name there. A life there. It housed his greatest treasures. And now, as a guest, he was one of them. One of the special, precious people that were welcomed with open arms. People like his mate Martha. Their son Jack, and their beautiful grandchildren. Tears sprang to Lafayette’s eyes, and he too set his cup aside to grasp Martha’s hand in both of his. 

“It would be my honor.” Lafayette said, his voice choked with emotion. “I look forward to seeing your lovely nest—-  _ home!  _ Your lovely home.” Martha smiled widely, her round cheeks rosy. 

“Oh it is quite the nest, you were right the first time.” She chuckled. Lafayette withdrew his hands, touching them to the heat on his cheeks. It was just then that Billy Lee entered to break the moment. 

“Supper is ready, General Washington.”

Washington rose from his chair with a groan. “Let us continue this in the dining room, shall we? Martha, dear.” He offered her his hand, and she helped herself up. Lafayette watched the two of them walk to the dining room arm in arm. The flicker in his chest grew, his whole body tingling with something he had never felt before. It was more powerful than the admiration he felt at their first sight, or the lust they followed him home from the river. It was a beautiful new feeling, one full of hope and longing. And as Lafayette’s gaze followed Washington, from the way he tenderly kissed Martha’s cheek as she sat, to the way he smiled bashfully as she whispered something back, he knew what it was. 

Love. 


	12. Festivities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some sexually explicit content in this chapter.

Most mornings Lafayette woke gradually. In his usual spot beside Washington the commotion of early morning would gently rouse him from sleep. Footsteps, hushed whispers, and finally the lack of a warm, solid body beside him signaled that night was officially over, and a new day had begun. On this morning, however, as he slept down the hall from Washington, Lafayette awoke to the sound of drums.

The drumming was loud and upbeat, and Hamilton was the first to groan in protest. “Good lord, do we need the fanfare…” he croaked, his voice still hoarse with sleep. Lafayette stirred from his spot on the outermost cot. To keep the cold out the three men had pushed their beds together, leaving Hamilton squashed in the middle where he could most bother them. Laurens was next to complain as the piercing sound of fifes soared through the air.

“They’re _fifing…”_ he glanced at the small clock on the mantle. “And it’s barely six.” Lafayette pulled himself up in the cot, drawing his knees close to his chest. He hadn’t heard fifes in quite some time. And by the cheery cadence of drums it sounded as though something was worth celebrating.

“What has happened? Why do they play?” He asked. Hamilton flopped over onto his side, one arm slung over Laurens to prevent him from getting up.

“Oh, it’s Washington’s _birthday_ . They did this _last year._ They’re probably playing it up to boost morale while Martha is here.” He groaned. Lafayette’s heart skipped a beat, ready to burst with excitement.

“A _birthday_! Why did you not tell me before?” Lafayette said. He slapped at Hamilton’s shoulder with playful offense, prompting the man to wriggle over and whine.

“It’s a birthday, Lafayette, I’m sure you’ve had four hundred of them, right?”

Technically yes, but Lafayette would never know it. Unlike humans, mermaids have a defined mating season. In late fall they migrate to warmer waters to find a partner, and by early spring the eggs hatch and a new school of mermaids are born. In reality, Lafayette shares a birthday with hundreds of his kind, and with no precise method of time keeping—such as a calendar or clock— Lafayette could never know the exact day he came to be. Birthdays, and the social celebration around it, were uniquely human.

“It is my first human birthday, Alexander, and it is Washington’s! I do not know the proper way to celebrate.” Lafayette babbled. He felt flustered and overwhelmed, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. Do they dance? He cannot dance. Eat sweets? Does he need to bring an offering, and if so what is the proper token to offer someone who has aged? Money, no...fish? He could fish the river and bring back a meal!

Lafayette began to dress quickly—though not properly—as he settled on the idea of fetching a few fish from the river. Hamilton lay his head back on the pillow. “Hurry back if you intend to fish. I’m quite certain Martha has a whole day of festivities planned.”

Lafayette pulled on his boots and jumped to his feet, bounding out the door to ready his gift. He nearly knocked into Billy Lee as he barreled down the steps, only half hearing him call out—

“ _Breakfast is at eight, Major General_!”— before he stumbled out the door.

The men in camp had learned that catching sight of Lafayette en route to the river meant the possibility of a fresh meal. The overnight shift, relieved of their duties, were usually the first to trail behind him, a spring in their step as the river came into view. Lafayette did not mind, as it meant he could familiarize himself with the men. As Washington had told him so many weeks ago, the men must see him plainly; and the water there was no hiding who he was. Every swim was a bit of a show. Some faces were familiar, returning time and time again for even half a fish. Others were new; soldiers pulled by their friends to see the mermaid officer.

The novelty of it never wore off. Lafayette would strip down and dive in, his tail reforming and smacking the surface loudly. The small crowd he had gathered would watch with awe, and Lafayette would sometimes swim close to the banks to show off the markings on his tale. They would ask questions, joke around with him, and barter amongst themselves whenever Lafayette threw a fish onto the banks. Today was no different.

“I’ve got one gill of rum in my tent, and I’ll trade for half a fish.” One man said, eying the fat fish still wriggling in a young Captain’s hands.

“One gill, my arse.” He laughed. “You reek of it. There’s nothing left I bet.” Lafayette smiled, diving beneath the ice for another catch. He would come down here once a week, knowing how important it was to let the current bring fresh fish down through the valley. The numbers were low, as river winters were, but Lafayette could feel the shift in the water. Winter was easing off, and during the weeks between March and May the river would slowly wake from its seasonal slumber. It was a feeling balled up in his gut, that twitched with every new scent that tickled his nose from upstream.

The promise of spring was enough to raise goosebumps on Lafayette’s skin. A few more weeks until warm sun, cool waters, and the possibility of tempting Washington into another swim with him. This time he would not delay in asking, and they would have a whole summer to slip away for a dip.

Out of the corner of Lafayette’s eye there was a flash of scales against the sun. He turned to spy a large fat fish. It was ugly—though most river fish were ugly to Lafayette— but the perfect size to grace the table for Washington’s birthday. It took only one good whip of his tail to propel him forward, so quick that the fish barely noticed until it was too late. Lafayette had his hands around it before it could dart away, and pinched until he heard a loud crunch behind the gills. The fish went limp, and Lafayette resurfaced with his kill.

“That’s a pretty fish, Major General.” A soldier said as Lafayette floated towards the banks. Lafayette held it above his head triumphantly, the fish sagging from its own heavy weight.

“It is for His Excellency’s birthday. I am certain it will be good enough for the table. I’ll even let him cook it.” Lafayette joked. He set the fish in a snow packed basket, and rolled out of the river. His human legs returned, all pink and tingly, prompting him to throw his clothes on quickly.

“You don’t like baked fish, Major General?” A man asked curiously. He eyed the fish in the basket, almost as if contemplating how appetizing a raw fish might be in comparison to a cooked one. Lafayette grinned and scooped up the basket.

“It’s not nearly as tasty, private. Might I have the time?” Some of the men patted down their pockets until a pocket watch was produced. It was from an older man, and it took him a few seconds to read it as the sun glinted into his eyes.

“About half past seven, sir.”

“Oh! Then I must hurry!” Lafayette did not bother throwing on his cloak. He balled it up, tucking it under his arm as he clutched the basket and ran uphill. His boots squished loudly, sometimes threatening to slip out from under him as he climbed through slush and mud. But he had time on his side, and a basket full of fish to give to Washington. A little mud could hardly stop him.

What did stop him was the door to the house, which opened on its own as he approached. The figure at the door was none other than Martha, dressed already in a lovely green dress and cloak. She looked at him curiously, from the top of his soaking wet head to the toes of his mud caked boots.

“Lafayette, what’s all this?”

Lafayette pulled his balled up cloak from the basket, ignoring the heat on his cheeks to show her his offering. “I brought...uh...I didn’t know what a proper gift was so I fished…this...for His Excellency….” Lafayette puffed, his breathing returning to him. Oh it was a silly gift. It was one fat ugly fish in a melting basket. The dumb thing dripped snow and blood over the doorstep, and so close to the hem of Martha’s lovely dress. He moved the basket back to avoid soiling her slippers, his face beet red. But Martha reached forward, taking the parcel from him.

“That’s a lovely gift. Come now, let’s sneak it to the kitchen and get you all cleaned up. Breakfast is almost ready, and I don’t want George to suspect.”

* * *

 

There were, in fact, festivities planned for Washington’s birthday. Around the breakfast table Lafayette learned that on this day he turned 46–a number that made him pinch his lips together tightly. There was a little ribbing over Washington’s age, as humans seemed to approach the concept of aging with some dark humor. At their healthiest they lived to see a century, and though Washington looked like a fine specimen, the subject of his nearing half-point filled him with some unease.

Martha was tactful, guiding the conversation around the topic to more interesting things; the new baby, news at Mount Vernon, letters from some of the wives of fellow officers. Lafayette followed her lead, asking more about the estate, which perked Washington right up. He was right in the middle of a fine proposition for a new garden when Billy Lee entered, gently reminding them of the time. There was much to do that day, it seemed.

To Hamilton’s dismay the drumming and fifing was not over for the day. The sound was still clear as the party fetched their horses, with a fresh new mare being saddled for Martha. From atop their mounts, Lafayette watched in awe as the drum line treated them to a few songs. Martha was particularly amused, humming along to some of the more popular songs.

Beyond the drums the men hurried about their business, hoping that the sight of hard working men would please Washington. They worked with a little more vigor than Lafayette had seen these past few weeks, rushing to and fro amongst the tents and through the field. Washington led their group around the outer edge of camp, showing Martha the hardships they had endured. From his horse he pointed out supply stores, armories, sick tents; all things in need of funds or improvements. Though Washington felt safe with Martha in camp, he showed some hesitation bringing her too close to the tents. Lafayette noticed that the downtrodden path that circled the camp avoided the horrible stench of the latrines, as well as gave wide berth to the sick tents. Martha had assured them she had been inoculated for smallpox, but with disease rampant that winter her tour was limited to the outskirts of camp.

From his place beside Martha, Lafayette could see Washington fidget in the saddle. It was clear that he wished to impress her; perhaps to justify the loans he continued to ask of her. He looked over the field with disappointment, sighing.

“I have some good news I had planned to share over dinner, but as this tour is highlighting our miserable conditions, I might as well share it.” Washington said. A glimmer of something hopeful danced in his eyes, and the party drew near to hear the news.

“Our man comes tomorrow.”

“That’s _wonderful_ news, George! Congratulations!” Martha said.

“With just enough time for spring too. Hopefully he can shape these men into an army.” Hamilton said. Lafayette felt a little lost. He knew Hamilton and Washington handled their own business, sometimes holed up in the war tent for hours while he wrote letters to congress. And whoever was about to arrive was certainly cause for celebration. Lafayette gripped the reins nervously, feeling only a tad foolish for having to ask.

“Who arrives tomorrow, your excellency?”

Washington turned, the hint of a triumphant smile touching his lips.

“Baron von Steuben.”

This was a name Lafayette had heard before, if only briefly. He was a Prussian, and had experience in the battlefield that Lafayette did not. He was trained in the art of European warfare, and knew of the intense drilling England and France used to build an army. And tomorrow he would be _here_ among the Continental Army. It seemed only right that a man like that would be able to turn farm hands into soldiers, and in a way Washington alone could not.

“My dear General, that is fantastic!” Lafayette exclaimed. Had it not been for their horses, he would have flung his arms around Washington’s neck and kissed his cheeks—but the moment was against him. He settled on sharing a shy smile, his heart swelling with pride at the great news.

“Well, we cannot let an announcement like this go uncelebrated. I suggest we head back and warm up with a nice drink before supper.” Martha said. She drew her cloak around her in an attempt to keep out the worsening chill. Washington turned his horse around, taking his wife’s lead.

“After you, my dear.”

* * *

By some miracle, in the middle of a dreadful winter devoid of comfort, Martha Washington managed to throw a party. Nothing lavish, so as not to flaunt the privileges officers had in front of hungry soldiers, but a clear step up from the meager meals Lafayette had been dining on all winter. Two Virginia hams had been brought stealthily in Martha’s carriage, a treat that delighted Washington to no end. They were placed alongside Lafayette’s fish, which had been baked. Along with the hams, Martha smuggled in a few good bottles of wine, and enough ingredients to throw together some choice sides for the guests.

“Now I know why Martha insisted on arriving just before today.” Washington said, taking a thick slice of ham onto his plate. “Someone would have found and eaten these sooner.”

“Is that directed at me?” The question came from a man Lafayette had come to know as Henry Knox. He was a portly man, with two missing fingers on his left hand, and an appetite to spare. Already on his second helping, Knox’s spoon was swatted away from a bowl of potatoes by Washington’s fork in a manner Lafayette found delightfully playful.

“ _Careful_ , the next finger you lose may not be an accident.”

Knox laughed, abandoning the potatoes for a roll instead. “Better my finger than my _leg_ —“ the sentence was cut off abruptly by a sharp jab to Knox’s side.

The jabber was a man by the name of Nathanael Greene, another officer Lafayette had slowly begun to know through his work acquiring and distributing supplies. Seated beside him was his wife, Kitty, who Lafayette suspected had been invited to keep Martha company during the long hours Washington was holed up in his tent.

Though at the moment she seemed rather occupied elsewhere, her foot seemingly lost underneath the table, finding its way up the inside of his own leg in a rather curious way. Lafayette coughed awkwardly into his napkin, adjusting his seat to avoid Kitty’s wandering slipper. Greene was none the wiser.

“I want to thank you again, Mrs. Washington, for taking up a collection of socks and scarves for the men.” Greene said, in an attempt to overshadow Knox’s runaway joke. “They were most overjoyed as they were handed out.”

“The half day helped too.” Laurens quipped. Washington had been reluctant to give the men relief of their duties, but Martha had convinced him otherwise. Under the table Kitty’s foot returned, and Lafayette scooted his chair closer to Hamilton’s. The man smiled down at his plate.

“ _I’ll switch if you need me to.”_ He whispered, poking at his fish. Lafayette stifled a laugh.

“ _Is she drunk?”_ Lafayette asked from behind his napkin. Kitty’s foot tapped coyly at his knee, and she looked over her wine glass at him with big batting eyes.

“ _On you, yes.”_

Lafayette blushed and rearranged his chair again. There was only so far he could push back before excusing himself entirely from the meal. Washington seemed to notice the distress, his expression muddled with confusion until Martha leaned in to whisper in his ear. Lafayette bit down on his lip to keep from laughing as Washington pinched the bridge of his nose with exhaustion.

“Have you seen _Charlie_ lately?” Laurens asked wryly. Hamilton scoffed loudly.

“Last I saw he was _drawing_.”

“God, it’s horrible isn’t it? He can’t paint his way out of a corner.”

Knox, having been ousted from his other conversation, leaned across Greene to hear them better. “Are you boys poking fun at Peale?” Hamilton cut away at his fish, his cheeks so pinched from smiling they turned pink in the candlelight.

“ _Never._ Why I’d like nothing more than to sit and have him capture my likeness.” There was a pause as he thoughtfully chewed his food. “I’ve always fancied how I’d look if we all shared the same face.” The men erupted into a fit of laughter, startling the other half of the table.

“ _Gentlemen.”_ Washington warned. Hamilton returned to his food, quieting his remarks momentarily. Lafayette grinned sheepishly, taking a deep swig of his wine to counteract the blush on his cheeks. Washington did the same.

Perhaps it was the wine, or the good company he found himself in, but Lafayette felt more jubilant than he had in weeks. The cold of winter could not creep within this small circle of light around their table. That is...until there was a knock at the door. The sound jarred Lafayette, and the following clatter of the door swinging open was no better. Glancing around the table Lafayette could see that the other guests were hardly phased, and for the first time he noticed the empty seat at the very end of the table. Someone was late to the party.

“Don’t chide him for lateness, you know how he is.” Washington murmured to Knox. He did so behind his cup, but the whole table grumbled in agreement. They carried on their conversation, letting the new guest wander in without their eyes on him, but Lafayette’s ears trained on the unsteady thud that shuffled through the parlor towards the dining room. It sounded like two people, and one was unsteady on his feet. The sound finally matched with the sight of two figures slinking into the party. One was a private, able bodied and holding up the second— he wore an officer’s uniform, with his leg bound tight in ugly bandages and a wooden brace.

“General Arnold, so glad of you could join us. How’s the leg healing?” Washington asked, looking up from his plate. Across the table the man called Arnold was heaved into a seat, which he loudly pushed closer to the table. Lafayette tapped his fork to his plate. Why did this name sound so familiar?

“My _leg_ is fine. Healing nicely, I might add. If the doctors weren’t so squeamish they’d let me walk on it more often to strengthen it.” Arnold’s leg stuck out at an odd angle from the edge of the table, clearly still going through bouts of swelling. An odd feeling brewed in the pit of Lafayette’s stomach as the man spoke. He was _definitely_ familiar. This voice was one of the first he had heard in the colonies. The man at the helm of a few poorly made schooners, setting ablaze to a dock and almost pinning Lafayette beneath the smoldering wreckage. This Arnold was one and the same.

It unsettled Lafayette deeply, and the meal before him felt less appetizing than it had moments earlier. Still, he picked at it politely, sitting back to observe the shift in the party. Arnold motioned for a glass to be poured, which it was. He helped himself to a plateful of ham and potatoes, all the while trying to interject into the conversations already flowing.

“Baron von Steuben arrives early tomorrow, so I expect you, Lafayette, and Hamilton to greet him and begin work. He does not speak English, I will need you three to translate for me.” Washington said to Greene. From across the table Arnold scoffed. Washington looked up with mild annoyance. “Something to add?” Arnold speared a piece of ham with his fork, his expression bitter.

“Is it _wise_ to let all these foreign men enlist in our army? Congress hardly has the money to pay for _American_ officers, and these French and Prussians sign up, expect an officer’s commission and title. Meanwhile there are underutilized men right here already.”

Hamilton swore under his breath, shoving down any comment he might have made with a piece of bread. Laurens looked to Washington with unease. Washington continued to cut at his meal.

“I am well aware of the influx of men from overseas looking to fight for our cause. While I don’t agree with some of their expectations, they are more bodies  we desperately need. Baron von Steuben is an excellent military man, one with experience we must rush to meet. I do not think it wise to _refuse_ that expertise.” Washington tactfully left out a response to underutilized men. Arnold quietly seethed.

“Kitty, you haven’t told me how the children are.” Martha said, diffusing the tension. Of course she had, but the rest of the guests quickly jumped on topic to revive the party. But Lafayette was not so relieved. In the time it took them to forget Arnold, Arnold had noticed him. He looked upon Lafayette with contempt, mindlessly rubbing at his leg every few minutes to relieve the ache. Lafayette could catch whiff of the wound beneath the bandages. It was the smell of pus, of flesh trying to fight off infection. Arnold would be lucky to keep the leg, but he would always walk with a limp. It was everything Lafayette had feared for his tail upon being shot last autumn.

For another man, Lafayette would have felt pity, but towards Arnold all he felt was unease. First impressions were important, that Lafayette had come to learn in his time on land. His first sight of Washington was indescribable. A solemn, noble figure in the night that beckoned him to leave the water. By comparison, Arnold made him feel the urge to dive deep beneath the waves. There was so much fire that night, it was hard to separate the man from the flames.

But this was ridiculous. General Arnold was a patriot. He dined at Washington’s table, and commanded his own troops for their cause. This bitter aura was wrapped up in his leg, and Lafayette would be rude not to offer his friendship in the way he had to every man he met.  And what better time than now, where Arnold was scanning the table for a place to share his thoughts.

“If you do not mind my asking, General, how did you come to wound your leg?” Lafayette asked. Arnold turned to him.

“In battle. My horse was shot out from under me, and it fell onto the leg.” He said briskly, as though he were miffed Lafayette didn’t _already_ know. Lafayette only nodded, eyes wide with interest.

“I admit that is a great fear of mine. The beasts are so heavy to lift. You are lucky to have survived.” That seemed to boost Arnold’s ego, as he puffed up like a proud pigeon.

“Some Generals don’t ride in head first, you see. That’s cowardice. I was out there rallying the men— and _continued_ to do so with the beast atop me.”

Lafayette smiled. “I know that feeling. That is how I was shot at Brandywine.” Arnold scoffed at the mention of it.

“ _Brandywine.”_ He cursed under his breath. Lafayette couldn’t help but notice a brief flash of anger in his eyes, and how it was directed at Washington. “But look at you now. Nice, strong lad. My leg is only taking this long because it was previously shot as well.” He explained it as though Lafayette were judging his inability to heal. “By spring I’ll be able bodied and ready to charge.”

Lafayette smiled once more. “I am sure of it. Not all of us can heal quickly.” The brief moment of semi-polite conversation passed as soon as the words left his lips. Arnold cut a little harder at his plate, his jaw set tight.

“Not all of us can be _fish.”_

Lafayette shrank back, unsure whether to apologize or address the statement. He settled for silence, leaving Arnold to eat his meal in peace. It was quite possibly the most jarring comment a man had made to him yet, and left him feeling embarrassed. Perhaps he was too forward, or boisterous about his ability to heal. Or maybe Lafayette was just too naive. Not _every_ human would be his friend. Many wished him great harm. And to those who despised the French for sticking their noses into the revolution, how hot could blood boil over a _mermaid;_ a bold, ignorant fish who rolled into their cause and assumed command. It was troubling. It was suffocating.

Hamilton, who had no doubt listened to the whole ordeal, turned to Lafayette with drink in hand.

“His Excellency has instructed that I’m not to eat anymore of your gift.” He said. On his plate were the flaky crumbs of a piece of fish, the thin wiry bones gathered neatly in a pile. “He doesn’t want to share.” Lafayette felt his embarrassment over Arnold ease, and he scooted closer to rejoin Hamilton and Laurens in their small talk.

The party lingered long after the plates were cleared. Martha took Kitty into the parlor, where they finished their evening with a small glass of wine. Washington pushed out from his seat, rum in hand, to discuss a few things with Knox and Greene. Lafayette remained at the table with Hamilton and Laurens, happy to giggle over the rim of his glass with them. But amidst the happy afterglow of a party Arnold still sulked. He picked at an apple quietly, his eye drawn to the corner where Washington stood. He waited, and waited, until finally it looked like a lull in the conversation would occur. And then he did something quite curious.

With a grunt Arnold pushed out his chair and lifted himself to his feet. Lafayette’s first instinct was to push out his own chair, and leap to his feet to help the man. Arnold had been carried in by a young soldier, and by the way he teetered Lafayette feared he would tip and break his other leg. But Arnold was proud, and shot a defiant look towards Lafayette before he could raise up out of his chair. A firm hand on Lafayette’s shoulder kept him in his seat.

“ _Let him.”_ Hamilton whispered. His fingers dug into the meat of Lafayette’s shoulder, anchoring him in place. Lafayette eased back into his chair.

Not wanting to make a spectacle out of Arnold, Hamilton resumed his conversation with Laurens, but Lafayette could not help but notice Arnold as he limped from the table. From his rigid posture it was clear Arnold wanted to stand tall and pretend that his wounded leg was not holding him back. He crossed the room in uneven strides, his wrapped leg scraping louder than his boot heel. He kept his head up, shoulders back, though only for a few steps at a time before pain sent a spasm through his body. Lafayette felt compelled to help, but it was clear that if Arnold wanted to speak to Washington he wished to do so on his own two feet.

Th sight sent sympathetic tremors to his own pained feet, tucked away in wet rags in his boots. For another man, sharing this would perhaps be a comfort, yet Arnold’s disdain for Lafayette’s able body kept him silent. Their pain was not the same. And neither were their hearts.

“Your Excellency, sir, I wish to speak with you about a few matters.” He spoke clearly, forcibly ending whatever point Greene was finishing up.

Washington turned to Arnold. His face was muddled with concern, but he allowed Arnold to speak. Lafayette turned back to the table, giving them their privacy. Laurens leaned over the table as if ready to share a secret.

“I hear Washington is going to find him a post off the field. That leg isn’t going to heal right.” Laurens whispered. Hamilton nodded.

“This spring. I spoke to Washington about it earlier today.”

Laurens clicked his tongue. “He won’t go without some incentive. Higher pay.”

“Title only. But I think this is more than that.” Hamilton said. He leaned close, and Lafayette got the feeling he was about to share a secret of more importance than camp gossip. “ _He’s asking about Tallmadge.”_

“The dragoon major?” Lafayette asked. He had sifted through Tallmadge’s reports before, though Washington was always particularly interested in his correspondence. Laurens confirmed it with a nod, and Hamilton glanced over his shoulder to ensure their privacy.

“He offered Tallmadge a post with him last fall, but certain _duties_ have kept Tallmadge from taking it.” Lafayette was a little out of the loop, but the message was clear. Tallmadge was working under orders from Washington, and Arnold had been cut out. The discussion behind them ticked up in volume, and Hamilton fell silent to listen in.

“...that a _major_ cannot disclose to a _superior officer—“_

 _“_ I have entertained this long enough. Major Tallmadge has decided to keep his post here. If you are in need of a skilled aid-de-camp there are a few men I can recommend.”

“ _Suddenly I’m incompetent.”_ Laurens hissed. Hamilton laughed, covering it with a horrible cough into his napkin. It alerted the two to their presence, and Lafayette instinctively patted Hamilton’s back hard to help his “coughing fit”. That did the trick. Washington turned back to Arnold, his voice aggravated and weary.

“I will send you a list in the morning. I think I’ve had enough festivities for the day.”

With that Washington departed, offering a brief goodbye to them at the table, and then to the group that had gathered in the parlor. From the corner of his eye, Lafayette could see Kitty Greene nudge and wink at Martha before Washington took her hand, and led her up the stairs to their room. Hamilton downed the rest of his cup.

“A happy birthday, indeed.”

* * *

Humans were fond of formalities. In his short time ashore Lafayette felt he had lined up one hundred times, awaiting some carriage to deliver a person, where there would be gracious greetings and a drink before the work began. Such was the case with  Baron von Steuben.

He arrived mid-morning, and had an early lunch with Washington and his translator. But unlike other guests—who had been wives or congressmen—Steuben was a military man, and he did not wish to waste the day. Before noon he was on foot throughout the camp, his aid in tow as he assessed the damage. Lafayette followed alongside Washington and Greene. The five of them walked briskly, with Steuben leading them in long lumbering strides. Wherever he turned, they followed, chasing scent of each and every problem.

Throughout the process Washington was rigid and silent. Being the only one without a firm grasp on French, he only listened, occasionally getting a brief translation of a comment from Greene. Lafayette thought the concern was rather silly. Steuben was quite jovial; a loud, boisterous soul with a taste for colorful language. Lafayette suppressed a smile every time Greene translated, _conveniently_ omitting some suggestive language. 

“Major General Lafayette, tell me, which side of camp has the steepest slope?” Steuben asked. Lafayette thought on it, and pointed towards a part of camp that dropped off rather quickly into a smaller field.

“Over there.”

“Excellent. Move your latrines there. And take whatever kitchens you have and relocate them on the far side of camp.” Steuben said. He stepped over a log and headed down towards the sick tents. “You need stricter rules to keep the men from their own filth. That also includes the sick. Though I know they are hard to move.” Greene hastily translated for Washington, who nodded along and took note.

Beyond the sick tents was a large field where the men were sent to drill. From across the field it was obvious that they were inexperienced. Their turns were messy, rippling like a wave rather than turning in unison. Men were slow to load, unable to take aim, and struggled to keep up in the cold. Steuben watched for a long while as officers led the men through drills.

“Who are these men? How many were soldiers before?” Steuben asked. Greene sheepishly piped up.

“Not many, sir. These are mostly local militia. Farmers and merchants who joined.”

Steuben let out a small “ _ah_ ”. “It would be foolish of me to impose the exact same regimen of other armies on these men. They’ve no experience and not enough time. But don’t you worry. We can work around that.”

Lafayette leaned over to Washington, translating softly.  “My dearest General, the Baron von Steuben sees hope in this army.” He took advantage of the moment, pressing close to link a reassuring arm with Washington. Beneath their cloaks their arms joined nicely, protected from the cold and bitter wind that blew across the field. As Lafayette spoke, Washington’s gloved hand came up to meet his own, and they laced their fingers together tightly. Despite all his strength, Washington’s fingertips trembled in a way that prompted Lafayette to squeeze his hand hard. Washington sighed a breath of relief, and his hand squeezed back beneath the cloak.

“ _Thank god.”_

* * *

“He said _what?”_

In the flickering light of the fireplace Martha’s amused smile was as warm as summer. Lafayette shifted again, sitting more comfortably on the bed of the quarters he and Washington shared.

“Things I shall not repeat because you are polite company. But I swear it! The men were sloppy, and Steuben turned and _insisted_ his aide translate some very persuasive language.” Lafayette said with a laugh. “Of course, his excellency would not approve of such words.” From her place beside him on the edge of the bed, Martha laughed.

“Oh not at all. But between us, he has the energy for quite a few words if he’s ruffled enough.” She topped off Lafayette’s glass, and Lafayette could feel the effects of his third wine of the evening on his cheeks.

“I would greatly like to hear such words.”

In her time at Valley Forge Martha had become a dear friend to Lafayette. She taught him to stitch quickly, and he spent a few nights hemming socks with her after Kitty Greene had left camp. She was patient and witty, often first to examine his fingers after being stuck with a needle. She once said there was a little of him in every sock he mended, and Lafayette believed it wholeheartedly.

His duties were shifted to Hamilton and Laurens for the duration of Martha’s stay, if only in the evenings so they could sew and socialize after supper. It seemed to bring Washington great joy to see them together on the couch, shoulder to shoulder patching up a uniform or a pair of stockings. He would often invite the two upstairs, so that he may discuss matters with them as they worked. Martha told Lafayette that it reminded Washington of home, where Mr. and Mrs. would discuss the day side by side in bed—- he with his book, Martha with her embroidery.

It made Lafayette bristle with pride to think that _he_ reminded his good General of home. Each night they spent sewing upstairs Lafayette felt a little more at home too, only instead of gentle currents and foaming surf, it was a fireplace and a cup of wine.

Tonight, however, the wine was doing it’s work rather quickly. Lafayette’s fingers felt light and airy, and his stitches began to look crooked and goofy. Martha had finished off a basket of stockings, and got up from the bed.

“There’s a jacket downstairs that needs a button added. I’ll bring it up and we can finish it tonight.” She said. Lafayette hummed, the sound of her skirts swishing out the door feeling lost in the thoughts swimming in his head. He may have let the wine get to him, but there was no worry in his heart. In fact, Lafayette felt relaxed. His skin was bathed in warmth from the fire, and his eyelids drooped heavily.

For just a moment, Lafayette set aside the mended stocking and lay back on the bed. Oh, how he had missed this. A nice soft bed; not like the bedroll and cot he used in Hamilton’s room. Lafayette smiled softly, finding it amusing that he— _a fish—_ had become so accustomed to human life that the mere subject of “bedding” filled him with strong opinions. What pillows were softest. What blankets kept the most warmth. What made him wake feeling like he was full of energy. Lafayette had become so lost in these thoughts that he let his body slip into sleep, and the sounds around him fell on his ears like a distant dream.

“Dear boy’s fallen asleep, George.”

“So I see. I can wake him and send him off to Hamilton’s—-“

There was a sound of disapproval, Martha clicking her tongue. “Look at him, George. He’s exhausted. Let’s clear off his cot here and let him stay.” There was a pause. “It’s not like you haven’t shared a room before—“

_“Martha.”_

From his spot on the bed Lafayette felt the mattress sink, and smelled Martha’s perfume. She touched his cheek gently, and it took all his strength to open his eyes. It was only a peek, and Lafayette could see Martha’s kind eyes gazing back. 

“You’ll stay here tonight, Lafayette. You did an excellent job helping me today.”

Lafayette nodded, and closed his eyes. Wine was something he _thought_ he had handled, but even humans overestimate their tolerance. The room bustled with activity. Martha cleared off the cot, and Washington put a hand on Lafayette’s brow.

“No fever. He’s just been in his cups.” He chuckled softly, brushing a stray lock out of Lafayette’s eyes. “You were only gone a minute, too.”

“Good wine will do that. Come now, George, ready him.”

Lafayette was roused again, this time by a stronger hand cupping his cheek. “Dear Marquis, your cot is ready. Do you need help readying for bed?” Lafayette raised his hands, placing them on the front of his jacket to undo his buttons. Whether it be the wine, or sleep, his limbs moved in a slow awkward manner. The button always escaped his fingers, and each try was more frustrating than the last. Pathetic as it was, Lafayette sighed and let his hands go limp.

“ _Yes please.”_ He mumbled.

Washington did not groan in annoyance, much to Lafayette’s relief. Instead, Lafayette felt two hands on his chest, nimbly undoing the buttons on his jacket. In a sleepy daze Lafayette sighed, all too happy to feel Washington’s warm hands on him once more. He was lifted like a priceless doll, his jacket carefully removed and placed aside. His waistcoat was undone, as well as the cravat around his neck. The room felt cooler, and Lafayette hoped the chill would relieve the drunken flush from him. Above him, Washington pulled off his boots, and rolled down the stockings on his feet.

“His feet are soaking wet.” Martha remarked. There was another sound, as if she were whacking the side of the boot to dislodge something. A wet thud on the floor revealed what it was. “Damp rags? George, did you know of this?”

Washington hummed with concern. “I did not. But let us not forget he is of a different kind. I have learned to let him do what is best while he is borrowing human form.” There was another pause, and Washington’s hands settled on Lafayette’s hips. “Darling, might you give him some privacy.”

“I’m not the least bit curious, if that’s what you’re implying.” Martha said. Nonetheless she walked across the room, away from the two. “But I can see why you’re so fond of him. He’s a charming young man.” Washington pulled on Lafayette’s shirt, untucking it from his breeches so that it billowed over him. Lafayette twitched, his skin sensitive to the tender way Washington’s hands grazed his stomach as he unbuttoned his breeches. From the depths of his sleepy, wine addled daze Lafayette giggled, his skin prickling and stomach fluttering as he felt the material of his breeches slide down his hips and past his knees.

“I think he’s ready to sleep. Poor thing can’t keep his eyes open for more than a second.” Martha chuckled. There was more warmth, two strong arms lifting Lafayette from the bed. They cradled him like a precious child, and Lafayette could smell the faint hint of Washington’s cologne in the air.

Soon the warmth of Washington’s embrace was replaced with the warmth of a quilt, and Lafayette’s two caretakers readied themselves for bed as well.

They took their time, speaking in hushed whispers as they went about their bedtime routine. Martha drew the heavy curtains on their bed, and Washington scratched out a few last letters by the light of a candle.

Sleep came in waves, leaving Lafayette bobbing on the surface of slumber like a cork in the sea. No sooner did sleep take him under did another sound rouse him. A cat wailing in the night. The scrape of a chair. The clink of a glass returned to its serving tray. They pulled Lafayette back to consciousness, teasing him with bits and pieces of the world that continued while he slept. It reminded him of the sea, where in his little cave Lafayette would sleep with one eye open, always alert for predators in the night. A good night’s sleep might be disrupted by a distressed fish, or a pod of whales making their migration. It was a sense that pricked at his nose, and made his skin tingle with anxious anticipation.

It was senses like these that roused Lafayette once more that night, his ears picking up on something in the dark. From his sleep he could make out two heartbeats, both quickening in the night. Lafayette lay still, expecting to hear two men silently creeping towards the room. Instead, he heard the rustling of sheets, and smelled the faint aroma of musk. A small giggle escaped the bed from behind its heavy curtains, and a hushed growl followed.

“ _Quiet, you’ll wake the boy.”_

A little sigh rose up, silenced by more rustling and a matching groan. Lafayette felt a rush of something bubble up in his chest. Washington was...he could only assume...engaging with his mate. The thought of it was rather endearing. Lafayette had seen many humans talk sourly about their mates, unsatisfied with long marriages and aging bodies. But Washington and Martha seemed rather smitten with each other. When neither thought Lafayette was looking, they would often fold into each other's arms, and whisper to one another like young lovers.

Lafayette remained still, curled on his side so as not to alert the two of himself. He would simply close his eyes and return to sleep, and let husband and wife continue their duty. But Lafayette’s thoughts got the better of him, and his keen senses did not allow him to shut out the sounds from behind the curtain.

In his mind’s eye he saw Washington as he was in the river; shirt off, hair in damp ringlets around his face. He saw his shy, tight lipped smile, and smelled the sweat on him. In his human toes Lafayette felt the phantom tingle of his fins, and the way Washington took them between his fingers, making him blush and wriggle on the rocks. It was enough to bring back that funny feeling in his gut. A heat that coiled in his stomach, and stiffened his cock beneath his long shirt.

And now there were sounds, hot heavy grunts that were muffled by the thick curtains surrounding the bed. Lafayette could only imagine the act. Washington undressing for bed, climbing atop him to lay sweet kisses down his neck, and then...well he didn’t quite know what happened next but it sounded _fun._

As the pace from the bed quickened, Lafayette felt his whole body overcome with feverish desire. He craved friction, any amount of it, though he dared not embarrass Washington by making a sound. Frustrated and desperate, Lafayette shifted slightly to clutch his pillow against his body. If he rolled his hips just right, his whole body twitched with a kind of pleasure that made his head spin.

Lafayette would not be able to fulfill that urge, however, as the activity behind the curtain came to its climax. His ears could detect their heart beats slowing down, and the scent of pheromones tickling his nose dissipated. There was only heavy breathing, and the sound of a few slow kisses in the dark. The curtain rustled, and Lafayette lay still as a statue, his eyes squeezed shut.

“See? Fast asleep.” Martha whispered, a little giddy. “And you were worried.”

Washington poked his head out of the curtain, laying his gaze on the sight of Lafayette, his body curled tight around a pillow. Lafayette tried hard to bite his lip and suppress a smile.

“Then why do I feel otherwise?”


	13. False Leadership

Below the waves there was very little change in seasons. The only sense of their coming and going was the current, bringing schools of fish for delighted mermaids to feast on. Each mermaid knew that when they first saw the glimmer of a long forgotten scale it signaled the beginning of a feast, one that lasted until the fat succulent fish turned tail and swam at the end of their migration. The water dictated their entire lives. Their feasts, their fasts, their mating and birthing. With a few gentle whispers the sea reminded mermaids what they were born to do, and they did so unchanging. 

Therefore, the changing of seasons on land was quite the miraculous sight to Lafayette. Just as he was mystified by the trees, and how they shed their leaves like colorful scales in autumn, so was he captivated by the blooming of them once more in spring. One day he would be walking a path, saddened by the sight of bare branches and cold dirt. The next day the trees would be dotted with tiny buds, so scrunched up and tight that they looked like clusters of fish eggs laid in the boughs. Then—as if beckoned by the sun—they would unfurl into a dazzling array of green leaves and white blossoms. 

Upon their first unfurling Lafayette fetched a basket, filling it to the brim with soft white petals. It was a basket full of small miracles, and he wasted no time sharing it with those he cherished most. Hamilton was first, roused from his work by a cascade of petals onto his red curls. 

“What’s all this?” Hamilton laughed, brushing the flowers from his hair. Lafayette dipped his hand back into the basket, grabbing a handful of fresh flowers. He sprinkled them back onto Hamilton, his cheeks pinching with joy.

“Isn’t it marvelous! I’ve never seen these before!”

“Apple blossoms?” 

Laurens entered the room, drawn in by the noise. “What’s this mess?” He asked shortly before receiving his own petal shower. “Oh.” 

“Spring is new to him, John.” Hamilton said wryly. Laurens smiled, grabbing a handful of blossoms and flinging them square in Lafayette’s face. In the flurry of petals Lafayette could not see Laurens and Hamilton lunge for the basket, but he pulled it away in the nick of time. 

“Give it here, Lafayette—“

“No!”

“Give it!” 

Lafayette moved quickly, his long legs pumping to send him up the stairs, leaving a trail of petals in his wake. Laurens did not pursue, instead turning his attention towards playing with the already scattered petals in the parlor. Slightly out of breath, Lafayette moved to his shared quarters, hoping to share his discovery with his general. 

Washington was there surprisingly, though he was not hunched over his writing desk. Instead, Lafayette found him on the bed. Creeping close, Lafayette could see that his eyes were closed, his lips parted ever slightly in blissful sleep. He lay on his back, hands clasped on his stomach as his long legs dangled over the edge of the bed. It looked as if he sat down for a moment, promising himself to rise in a few minutes, and like a cat in the sun was lulled deep into sleep. Their winter had been so long, and the work hours longer since the frost had melted, it would have been a shame to wake him. So, quite gingerly, Lafayette reached into the basket, sprinkling soft white blossoms across the bed. 

They landed on Washington without a sound, trembling only from the warm spring breeze drifting through the open window. Drenched in sunlight, the room seemed transformed. It was no longer a cramped little room with a drafty, leaky window. It was now inviting and full of warmth. So much so that it had lured his commander into the sweet embrace of a mid afternoon nap. The yawn that overtook Lafayette warned that he too would be next. He accepted the call to rest, crawling alongside Washington without a sound onto the petal strewn bed. His boots would remain on, as would his jacket—maybe in some hopes that he could pretend that he too was ensnared by the softness of their bed, and not by the warm, solid body he so longed to cradle against. 

Washington barely stirred, only moving to allow room for Lafayette to tuck himself beneath his arm, as they had done every night since their arrival at Valley Forge. Lafayette leaned into it gladly, following the rise and fall of the petals on his chest, until he too breathed and dreamed in harmony. 

* * *

Spring had arrived for the army as well. The once hard ground had softened, turning the field into a patchwork of worn brown patches. New shoots of grass were left to compete with the ever repetitive shuffle of boots as the men drilled day in and day out. What had started as an uncoordinated mess of farmers and militia had begun to bloom under Steuben’s tutelage, and as Lafayette watched them alongside Washington on the hilltop, he felt a swell of pride.  _ This _ was an army. A small and inexperienced one, but an army nonetheless. 

“Hamilton, I want you to relay my deepest thanks to the Baron von Steuben after he completes his drills today. I am quite satisfied with his work.” Washington turned on his heel, heading back down the hill towards the familiar shape of his war tent. Lafayette trotted after, having to move his sore feet double pace to keep up with him. 

“In fact, I have begun preparations to march out. We have overstayed our welcome here. The last of the snow has melted off, and it gets hotter by the day. Our foes are already on the move, and we cannot afford to lose all the progress we’ve made before leaving camp.” Washington peeled back the canvas flap of the tent, hunching to step inside. Lafayette and Hamilton followed, taking his lead and circling around a table laid out with a map and markers. The sight of it raised goosebumps on Lafayette’s skin, and sent a phantom throb through his once wounded leg. If Lafayette’s gut was correct, this wasn’t just an order to march out. It was a battle plan. 

His suspicions were confirmed as the tent flap opened, and three figures crouched to enter. “General Knox, so good to see you.” Hamilton greeted, shaking Knox’s meaty hand as he sidestepped around the table.

“And you, my boy.” 

Greene was not far behind him, as was the sour looking face of a man who Lafayette had heard murmurings about. 

“General Lee.” Washington said, shaking the man’s hand briskly. “Now that you’re here we can begin discussing plans.” Charles Lee was a man Lafayette had not been particularly friendly with. In fact, they barely talked. According to Hamilton, whose ears were open to all manner of gossip, Lee had been gunning for Washington’s position since the start of the war, and with that came a tense history. Lee’s displeasure with Washington spurred a number of bad decisions, one of them resulting in his capture. Now back in Continental hands, Lee was twice as determined to prove his worth. Washington gestured to the table where the map and markers were laid out, and the men gathered round. 

“Cornwallis and Clinton have begun moving their troops through New Jersey. With the intelligence we’ve gathered it looks as though their route is stretching them thin.” Washington traced a finger along the map, following the faint marking of a road.”We can slow their advance. Wear them down until it’s time for us to strike, and I do suggest we do so.” 

The men around the table studied the map, their brows furrowed and lips pinched tightly. Lafayette watched them carefully, hoping to feel out their thoughts. From the way they brooded over the table it was clear that this decision would not be unanimous. But for Washington’s sake, hopefully negotiable. 

“I think it unwise, your Excellency.” Lee said, breaking the tense silence of the room. From behind Lafayette Hamilton let out a huff, only to quickly suck it back in at the passing glare of his commander. Washington set his jaw, unsurprised by the opposition.

“Might I have your thoughts then, General?” 

Lafayette never tired of Washington’s cordial approach to public critique. A man his size, with his prowess...a  _ shout _ could bring men to their knees. Yet holding back that force only made him more powerful. If dissent and cannon fire could not ruffle Washington’s feathers, than whatever would might shake heaven itself. 

“General Clinton has 15,000 Hessians under his command. It would be foolish to pursue them, seeing as we have just begun to shape up.” Lee said. At his side Knox grunted with approval.

“I agree with General Lee. This seems like an unnecessary risk.”

Washington’s face read with disapproval, but it was clear that Knox’s thoughts weighed more than Lee’s. This was a genuine concern, not some childish put down. At Hamilton’s side Greene spoke up.

“I’m sorry I have to disagree. Reports have come in that the majority of British stores have been sent to New York by sea. They march through New Jersey with limited provisions and munitions. If they’re strung out along the countryside, it would be easier for us to take advantage of this.” At this Hamilton tapped his knuckles on the hard wood table, voicing his agreement.

“I agree with the Generals Greene and Washington. We can not afford to lose this opportunity.” 

Lafayette had been silent til now, carefully reading the map and the faces of the men surrounding it. This plan was different than Brandywine, for which they had suffered great loss. And a chance to cut the British off from New York was too good to lose.

“I agree as well.” Lafayette said. “We should pursue them.” 

Washington looked at the two dissenters, his attention soon focusing on Lee. “I do believe this is a plan we should pursue, and in light of your expertise I would offer you to take the lead, General Lee.”

The offer to lead, while alluring to most, seemed to slide off Lee. With his track record of disagreeing with Washington he would not want to execute a plan not his own, no matter where in the masses he stood. 

“I’d have to decline, your excellency.” Lee said dryly. “As I have serious concerns about the outcome of this endeavor.” Washington nodded politely at his decision.

“Very well. Then I shall be offering the lead to General Lafayette.” 

Lafayette’s heart skipped a beat. Had he heard correctly? Washington had been so careful with him before, as he was with all the aides in his circle. Hamilton begged for battle relentlessly, yet he was confined to the war tent for even minor skirmishes. The look on Hamilton’s face proved his hearing correct. He had been offered a lead command. 

Turning his head Lafayette’s hopeful eyes met with Washington’s, and in turn he received a short little nod of approval.  _ A lead command.  _ This would not be like Brandywine, where he threw himself blindly under fire and was carried away in a heap. He knew men better now. Knew the way they fought. They way they broke under pressure. He knew  _ their _ men better, and had faith in them. But faith was not shared amongst everyone in the room.

“General Washington, _ sir,  _ is that such a wise choice?” The dissent was Lee—again— though Lafayette could not be certain if it was genuine or just seething rage over the fact that Washington did not  _ beg _ for his assistance. “A general so junior as Lafayette, that is.” 

“General Lafayette is very highly skilled. His drills under the Baron von Steuben are near excellent, and his report with the men impeccable.” Washington explained. Lee bristled.

“ _ Popularity  _ alone is not enough to keep men from breaking their ranks. It is about discipline and experience. General Lafayette has not been seasoned in battle.” 

“General Lafayette took a bullet to the leg in the Battle of Brandywine, sir.” Hamilton interjected. “With accounts of him rallying men until his injury forced him from the field.” 

Washington gestured to Lafayette. “Seasoned,” He said, turning to Lafayette to add “if you’ll pardon the term, General Lafayette.”

“I pardon it, sir.” Lafayette said, his cheeks pinching with joy. “And I accept this position.” Across the table Lee sulked, sucking on his own teeth over the decision, but Lafayette paid little mind. His hard work had begun to pay off. Knox shifted beside Lee, still mulling the idea over. 

“I would like to discuss the plans more thoroughly, Your Excellency, if that is right by you.” He said, his eyes still fixed upon the map. Washington nodded.

“It will all be discussed further, but for now I must attend to some correspondence if I wish to complete it before midnight.” He said, one hand gesturing towards the flap of the tent as a polite invitation to leave. Greene and Knox gathered their things, accompanying Hamilton out of the tent. Lee lingered a moment while he readied, perhaps hoping for a final offering whilst out of the eyes of their peers. It did not come. The silence lasted until Lee left and the tent flap fell back into place.

Lafayette did not know what to do. Alone now with Washington and his new orders his whole body trembled with excitement. It was an itch under his skin he could not relieve, but oh how it bubbled to the surface to make him wriggle and fidget. Washington caught sight of it, his lips twitching upward into the slightest smile.

“You may proceed, dear boy.” 

“Thank you, sir!” 

Lafayette leapt up, peppering Washington’s cheeks with overjoyed kisses. Washington placed his hands on Lafayette’s waist to steady himself against the onslaught of appreciation. By the time Lafayette lowered himself down off his pinching toes Washington was a delightful shade of pink. He stepped back briskly, turning his attention back to the table with a small cough.

“This will not be an easy task, Lafayette.” He said. “The men have improved greatly, but under pressure I cannot guarantee that they will fall back on their training.” His face steeled as the looked over the map. “And if they crumble others will point to you as the source. It is not a fair position, but one every man must place himself in if he wishes to lead.”

“I do not mind it.” Lafayette said. He did his best to stand straight, puff out his chest or deepen his voice as he had seen many men do when called upon. The act seemed to amuse Washington, though not enough to ease the tension in his shoulders, or the way he clenched his jaw. 

“I will warn you now, then, that men will treat you differently. Not just our own, but the enemy as well. There are... _ rules _ of conduct during war, especially between officers. But I would not have faith that the British will treat you as a foreign aristocrat or high ranking officer. In fact, I would expect quite the opposite.” 

Lafayette shifted uncomfortably on his feet, all too aware of the throbbing ache that radiated from them. He knew as much. Papers from the other side would make their way to camp, and Lafayette would see himself as loyalists portrayed him. A large bloated fish creature tangled in seaweed, fumbling around on webbed feet and stinking of rotting flesh. He saw the drawings of himself in a big soup pot, boiled alive over the kindling of their declaration, ready to be spooned out into the bowl of their king and countrymen. What Washington was too polite to say is that their enemy would not see him as an officer, nor a human. He would be “dinner”, filleted and divided in the most horrific of ways. 

“It would please your Excellency to know that where I am from I am considered a predator of the highest sort. I can assure you I will not be taken without a fight.” 

“I know you won’t.” Washington said. “But you know why I must speak of it.” His voice was soft now, with a touch of some hidden tenderness. This man had an army to worry about, and yet here he was worrying over the fate of one little fish. It warmed Lafayette’s heart to think that Washington fretted over him, however undeserving he felt of it. Lafayette stepped forward, hooking his fingers in the neatly pressed lapels of Washington’s uniform. Looking up at him, Lafayette could see tears misting his eyes. It was a struggle to meet his gaze, but once he did Lafayette had to pluck up the courage not to cry himself. 

“You will not be without me. I promise.” Lafayette said. Washington nodded and placed his hands on Lafayette’s shoulders, his thumbs absentmindedly stroking Lafayette through the fabric of his uniform. 

“Let us hope so.” 

* * *

It wasn’t long before the officers found themselves around the table again, this time discussing their plan in depth as reports of British troops stringing along the New Jersey countryside continued to filter in. There was a newfound sense of urgency in camp, with even the men on the field snapping to attention just a touch quicker than before. Valley Forge would be behind them shortly, and before them the next leg of a war they could only wish to win. 

“We have considerably slowed British troops on their march north by making certain routes unviable thus far, but there is only so much burning bridges can do. I intend to start our pursuit and begin our main attacks.” Washington said. He stared at the map in front of him, studying each of the new wooden markers that riddled its surface. Pegs for their buff and blues, pegs for redcoats, pegs for burnt bridges and blocked roads. The train of red was thin and long by several miles as the British lugged a baggage train with them from their leave of Philadelphia to New York. 

Lafayette studied these markers too, trying hard to commit them to memory as the reality of his situation became more apparent. Each of these pegs represented lives, and each move could mean more faces that did not return to camp. It was a great responsibility, one he did not take lightly. His life was on that table too. As a Major General he would be a prime target, as a mermaid an even greater one. But he made a promise to pledge his heart to this cause, and he would see that promise through. The rush of it all made him a little light headed, and the wine Washington had poured for the officers didn’t help the trembling in his fingers. 

“How do you plan to attack, your excellency?” Knox asked as he sipped from his cup. Washington’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“I don’t know. It’s very tempting to be heavy handed and show them our full might, but we’ve been deceived before…” he dabbed a handkerchief at the sweat on his jaw, highlighting yet another obstacle of the human world Lafayette felt ill equipped to face; the heat. In the past two weeks the temperatures had soared to new heights, pushing the limits of how much modesty men could tolerate. Their uniforms were layered and stifling, and each day there were no less than a dozen men who were sent to the medical tents for locking their knees and succumbing to the heat. They crumpled to the grass and were carried out by men whose clothes held more liquid than their cups, only to be spat back out on the field for more drills upon regaining consciousness.

The heat took its toll on Lafayette as well. The soaked rags in his boots cooked to the point of boiling under the sun. Lafayette was forced to change the rags often, noticing each time the pale and pruny state of his feet. The throbbing became worse and every step was agony. Lafayette spent a majority of his time on his horse surveying the men, but when called to perform drills he did so without hesitation, only to pay for it later. Though his feet did not cut or blister the flesh felt as though it would slide free of his bones as he shucked off his boots, threatening to reveal the thin wiry fishbones beneath. There was little time to recover in the safety of the river, and so Lafayette settled for a basin of water to be brought to his shared room each night, where he could flex his toes and try to stave off the pain. 

That pain was returning tenfold as Lafayette stood at attention in the war tent. He would not be seen as weak. Not now when Washington needed him most.Across the table the other officers shifted uncomfortably; equal parts overheated and over anxious. Lee fidgeted most, his lips pursing and relaxing as though he wished to say something. This continued for quite some time, even as Knox and Greene laid out their plans for Washington’s approval. And then came a most curious thing…

“Your Excellency.” Lee said, cutting through what promised to be the last bit of their meeting. “I must offer my  _ concerns _ on this mission once again.” Washington paused, urging Lee to explain with his silence. “It has to do with the approach. I feel that coming down heavy handed is too much of a risk.”

“Then what do you propose?” Washington asked. Lee straightened up, smoothing his jacket down with sweaty palms.

“A two part attack. We send men ahead, perhaps a light infantry. The rest of the army trails behind for reinforcement. It allows us to receive more reports in case the baggage train carries more munitions than we planned for, and our whole army would not be in jeopardy.” 

Washington nodded, his eyes downcast towards the map. “Not too light a touch, General. Would 4,000 men be an agreeable first wave?” he asked. Lee shifted once again, this time a little more confident. 

“It would be. Which brings me to my second concern…” Lee said. His eyes locked on Lafayette. “It is my professional opinion that Major General Lafayette is too inexperienced for this particular mission.” Lafayette felt the bile rise in his throat, and he clamped down hard on his tongue in order to silence it. The faint metallic taste of blood crossed him, but it was nothing compared to the seething rage he felt towards Lee. The man had no scruples! First he turned down the chance to lead. Now he ridiculed Lafayette—who is more than prepared— for what could only be some ploy to recommend one of his lackeys. Lafayette turned to Washington, examining his expression. But this time it was remarkably hard to read. 

“And what would you have me do? Major General Lafayette is well prepared. I can not afford to introduce a new officer to this mission.” 

“It would not be a new officer.” Lee said. “It would be me. After careful thought I have come to the conclusion that this is a delicate task and I was too hasty to refuse your offer. You’ll find I am just as prepared. Moreso, actually, with my battle history.” 

Lafayette grit his teeth and dug his nails deep into the meat of his palm. Too hasty was right, but plans had been made. He looked to Washington, once again seeking some hint of what was going on behind his set features. Washington studied Lee for a good long moment, then let out a slow sigh.

“Very well. Then I can entrust you to lead the first wave of attacks.” 

Lafayette’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, though he did his best not to show it. Across the tent Hamilton glared at Washington, obviously displeased. But Washington did not waver, and the last few minutes of their meeting dragged slowly. Even as the tent emptied Lafayette felt as though he were stuck in mud, unable to meet Hamilton’s eye as he passed by on his way out. It was over in an instant, but felt like an eternity, and it left Lafayette crushed. 

“Lafayette…”

Lafayette stared down at his own aching feet to avoid meeting Washington’s gaze. It was painful to look at him. After the hours he poured into readying himself Washington’s decision felt harsh and unfair. Like he had done something wrong, however unintentional. Beside him Washington cleared his throat. 

“Lafayette, dear boy…” Washington began “I hope you will understand how delicate human warfare is. It’s not only wits and strategy, but also politics. Trades and favors that keep this army unified, if ever so fragile.” He stepped close to Lafayette, clasping a warm hand down into his shoulder.

“General Lee has been gunning for my position for some time. If I were to forsake seniority and lose this battle, we could lose support from his followers.I could be removed. I ask you to step back now and ride with the main army beside me.” Lafayette shifted on his feet, trying to focus on the warmth of Washington’s hand and not the piercing pain in his toes.

“I will ride with you, sir. It’s an honor.” He said, though his voice cracked pitifully. Washington smiled softly, and pulled Lafayette into an embrace. It was so utterly foolish, but Lafayette could feel fat tears welling up in his eyes, soaking into the fine material of Washington’s uniform. Here he was just a boy, so childish and naive. He had been so excited for his new position that he had not considered the consequences. That it put a target on their backs even within the confines of their camp. As gracious as the offer was, Lafayette had to graciously give it up. But that did not mean he couldn’t cry about it. He couldn’t help that, and Washington seemed all the more eager to console him as small sobs wracked his body. 

“This will not be your last battle. It is nothing to be eager for, though I admire your courage.” Lafayette let out a huff of laughter against the breast of Washington’s uniform.

“I do not feel courageous.” He said bitterly, scrubbing the tears from his face roughly with his sleeve. Washington reached into his front pocket, ignoring the large wet stain Lafayette had left across it. 

“There is courage in admitting it. That’s enough.”

* * *

The average soldier was outfitted with the following: his uniform (if available), musket, munitions tin, powder horn, bayonet in scabbard, canteen, and pack supplied with his clothes, utensils, and rations. On a fair weathered day these things could become heavy and cumbersome during hours of marching. Today, they might as well have been iron chains. 

Stifling heat rolled over the countryside, slowing the main army down considerably as they marched out to join Lee’s first wave. Lafayette had to stop twice to water his horse, an activity that was usually not as urgent. Washington allowed the quick breaks but urged the men to be wise with their water. It was all to tempting for the men to douse themselves from the canteen, momentarily cooling themselves down while sacrificing their opportunity to drink later. Lafayette understood the desire well. He fidgeted atop his horse, squinting into the sun that seemed to melt the flesh from his bones. What he wouldn’t give to be back in the cool embrace of the ocean. Dive headfirst and sink down, down, until the world was cold and dark, and the sun could no longer reach him. 

“Lafayette—“

Lafayette snapped upright, suddenly aware of how far forward he was slumped on his horse. Washington looked over at him with concern. It probably looked as though he was about to faint from atop his horse. 

“I am fine.” He said, fumbling for his canteen. “Let us push forward.” It was easier said than done. Their orderly march had begun to look like a desperate shamble, with Lafayette witnessing more than one man crumpling to the road under the weight of his own equipment. Even Washington’s horse wobbled in the heat, and though Washington guided the beast at a steady pace, it was clear that the heat was affecting it. 

It was then, as they pushed up the road, that a group of soldiers were seen on the horizon. Lafayette craned his neck, squinting against the sun and shimmering heat to make out the figures hurriedly coming down the road. Within moments he recognized the uniforms; fellow continentals, with General Lee at the front. Washington urged his horse forward, making his way to the front of the line to find out what the trouble had been. No messenger had been sent, and so the arrival of their  _ own army _ , seemingly marching in the wrong direction, was cause for panic.

“What is the meaning of this?” Washington asked, though his tone bit with something hard. Lee fumbled for words, finding some of the most ridiculous ones Lafayette had ever heard. 

“Y-your...Excellency. We encountered a few problems—“

“And you will state them  _ immediately,  _ for I see no problem so great that you have turned around so  _ soon.” _

Lafayette glanced around at the men, taking in the state of their clothes, their weapons, their faces. Light wear and tear, but no bloodied men. No mud caked boots or smell of gunpowder. Besides the sun burn on their cheeks they were unscathed. Perfectly fit for the battle they should be fighting. By now other officers had begun to take notice of the halt, and Lafayette caught sight of Hamilton’s horse riding up alongside his. Not far behind was another young major he had not seen since winter—Tallmadge. They too stared at Lee, a look of confusion and concern written across their faces. Lee fumbled once more.

“Their numbers are too great. It would be foolish to try and press them at this time—“ Whatever way Lee intended to end the sentence was cut short by Washington, finally through with this childish standoff. 

“FOOLISH?  _ YOU NEVER TRIED THEM _ .” 

Lafayette gripped the reins of his horse tightly as she shifted—startled— beneath him. Washington yelled with a strength he had not seen before. It was booming, terrifying. The leaves of the trees themselves trembled around them as he laid into Lee from atop his horse and for once Hamilton had not a quip or smug expression to break the tension. 

“You goddamn poltroon! Your cowardice has cost us time and our chance at victory. You do a disservice not only to yourself but to the country you so claim to serve! I’ve had enough of this. To the rear with you.”

Lee sat upon his horse dumbstruck. It looked as if all of Washington’s words had fallen on him like a ton of bricks, and he was left mumbling meagerly.

“I- I  _ apologize _ , Your Excellency But—-“

“I  _ said  _ to the rear.”

Lee urges his horse forward, bringing it up to a trot so he could make a speedy, shameful retreat to the back of the army. The men behind him stood awkwardly, having seen their own general get a dressing down. Washington took a minute to compose himself, his hands twisting the reins as if to wring the last of the rage from his body. When he looked up he was the same man Lafayette had come to know; poised and controlled, with that rage locked someplace deep where it could simmer. He then turned to Lafayette.

“General Lafayette, it seems I am in need of your service once more. Will you do me the honor of taking command and leading the charge.” His eyes glimmered with something wonderful—Lafayette could only describe it as pride, and he felt his own chest puff out proudly. 

“Yes sir!”

Lafayette rode forward, the crowd of men parting to give him a clear path to the front of the line. Behind him Washington followed with the main army, ready to put their hard laid plans into action.

What Lafayette saw on the battlefield this time was nothing like Brandywine. Once more they were outnumbered, but the men scrambled to position as he called them. In the face of an advancing army they stood their ground with their rifles level. When he shouted “Fire!” they hit their mark. The white buttoned fronts of regulars uniforms began to match the blood red outer coat, each round finding a target. Though the heat had taken its toll on both sides, it affected the British heavily. Many men were slow to draw. Lafayette witnessed one private fumble to reload his musket, only to crumple to the ground before he could thread the ball through the barrel. Another man simply seemed out of his wits and was felled by a passing round. 

“General Washington has arrived! Prepare to move!” Lafayette yelled, urging the men beside his horse to reload quicker. “On my count!”

Lafayette took his men aside as Washington came on the scene followed by the main army. With their support he could retreat into the wings, taking his men around to flank the British and push them back. Unlike Brandywine, it worked. By some miracle it worked. The British troops that had advanced in pursuit of Lee’s retreat had begun to fall back. Stretched so thin it would take much too long for their men to regroup into a more formidable formation, and it was clear that each new wave of fire could take out their support. 

Minutes turned to hours, and though Washington insisted on pushing forward he was still met with some resistance. After a few attempts to advance across the field a main American line began to form, as did a British one from the safety of a side of a ravine. By now the sun had dipped low in the sky, though the heat remained. 

“General Lafayette, you’ve been summoned.” A voice called. Lafayette looked down from his horse to see an out of breath messenger boy. “General Washington wishes to speak with the officers.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Lafayette said, turning his horse to cross over to Washington’s post. He tried desperately to ignore the sweat trickling down his back. His uniform was soaked, though it matched the other men quite suitably. Every drop of sweat that left him was agony. He needed water. A river. His skin felt burnt and papery, and his tongue was so dry it stuck to the roof of his mouth. Had it not been for his horse his feet would have likely fallen off. 

By the time Lafayette arrived the other officers had begun their meeting, and they moved to allow Lafayette and his horse to squeeze into their circle.

“General Lafayette, excellent work.” Washington said warmly. Lafayette bowed his head, trying his best to hide the blush that was creeping across his cheeks at the sound of praise.

“Thank you, Your Excellency.”

Washington smiled briefly before turning to the other officers he had grouped. “We are in a good position to press further. What say we try and cross the field?”

Knox looked out at the field, the sound of gunfire still ringing through the air. Beyond the field the sky had turned a dusty purple as the last rays of the sun sunk below the horizon. He sucked air through his teeth with disapproval. 

“We’ve lost the sun, Your Excellency. We can’t advance in the dark. Our best bet is to wait and advance at first light.” He said. Washington looked out in the direction of the British line, his eyes scanning for signs of movement. Multiple dots of flickering flames had begun to dapple the now dark hills beyond the ravine. 

“It seems you are right. They’ve built campfires. They intend to wait until morning.” Washington said. “Very well. Set up fires and assign men to hold their positions. We can’t rule out a midnight ambush by light infantry. Have them ready to attack full force at dawn.” 

The men dispersed, and Lafayette rode back to his post to inform the men. Assigning post was easier said than done. Most of his troops had marched unnecessarily in the heat due to Lee’s retreat. Finally free from the blazing heat of the sun the

men began to wilt and sprawl out along the grass. Some were asleep even before Lafayette had finished reciting orders. He picked a handful of men for first watch, then found one or two captains to figure out a rotation through the night.

By the time he was finished Lafayette felt as though the strength had drained from his body. He tied his horse to a makeshift post along with the others, and limped out towards the field to find a decent place to rest. Though his body screamed in pain his heart beat wildly as Washington’s praise replayed in his mind.  _ Excellent work. _ Yes, he had done his very best. Though his best had wrecked this human body he had borrowed. Weakly, Lafayette dropped to his knees underneath the boughs of a tall tree, feeling the full force of his pain. God how his feel ached. Pulling off the boots was a nightmare, and Lafayette nearly bit through his lip to keep from screaming. The leather peeled at his raw and tender skin, and the rags inside were rank with sweat and brine. The stabbing pain began to dull as his feet aired out, but for a few minutes Lafayette wondered if he’d be able to pull them back on in the morning.

Sinking back into the soft grass Lafayette closed his eyes and tried to will away the pain. In his mind he imagined water; cool, deep, endless. He imagined it wrapping his sore limbs and bringing back his tail. He could hear the thrum of the current and feel sand beneath his fingers. Yet it wasn’t enough. With every gust of wind Lafayette was reminded he was far from the sea. What was once a sweltering hot day had turned into a chilly night. The wind seemed to pass through the damp wool of his uniform, wicking away all warmth. Lafayette curled up into a ball, but even with his knees tucked to his chest the chill sank in. That was...until something heavy fell over him.

Opening his eyes Lafayette could see he was covered by a huge swath of fabric, that of a large cloak. Dark inky black with a brilliant crimson lining. Above him— Washington. He had shed his cloak and draped it over Lafayette’s huddled body, and was making himself comfortable in the grass beside him.

“The chill is the worst part, but I assure you sleeping under the stars is quite remarkable.” Washington said. He lifted the corner of the cloak and slipped under, pressing close to Lafayette. Lafayette did not need to think twice as he scooted close to Washington for warmth. Just as they had every night before, their limbs became entwined, and Lafayette rested his head in the crook between his commander’s arm and chest. 

“The stars here are the same as the ones I see from the shore.” Lafayette marveled. “I would have thought there would be new ones.” Washington chuckled and looked to the sky.

“No, little fish. Not for many miles.” 

“Just like a decent bed.”

Lafayette looked up, startled to see Hamilton shaking out his jacket not five feet away. Washington groaned and closed his eyes.

“I take it you’ll be sleeping here then, Alexander?” 

“Better here than with the horses.” Hamilton quipped. He plopped into the grass and pulled his coat over him. “Or with the cowards.” Lafayette pressed his cheek to Washington’s chest to stifle a laugh.

“Ah yes. What to do with General Lee.” Washington said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Our very  _ risk conscious  _ officer.” From down the hill came footsteps, and Lafayette turned to see another few familiar faces hiking up to rest.

“Generals Knox and Greene won’t bother us much.” Washington commented. “Nor will they  _ repeat _ anything I might say, is that correct, Sirs?” 

“Correct.” Knox said, plopping down into the grass. “Though you said plenty on the road.” Hamilton laughed, only stopping to greet one final man as he trudged up the hill.

“Tallmadge you’re late.”

“Am not.” 

Lafayette lifted his cheek from Washington’s chest, delighted by the crowd but also concerned that Washington would not be as playful in front of such a crowd. Tallmadge being the lowest ranking officer, there might be some sensitive information discussed that Washington did not wish him to hear. “But can Tallmadge be trusted not to repeat the gossip?” He joked. Washington and Hamilton shared a look before responding in unison.

“Yes.” 

“Your invitation honors me.” Tallmadge said, laying out in the grass. “But word has already gotten out that you called Lee a damned poltroon.” Washington groaned.

“Can we possibly undo that?”

“None, sir, the men love it.” 

“Well then, let them have it.” Washington said. Nearby Knox pulled a canteen from his jacket, and after a swig it made its way around. From the look on the men’s faces Lafayette could tell it wasn’t water, and he waited eagerly for his turn. His nails dug into the worn leather wrapped around the canteen, and lifting it to his lips Lafayette could taste strong whiskey. It warmed his tongue, and as it settled in his stomach Lafayette felt a little better about the chill in the air. 

The canteen had been passed around a few times before Lafayette began to feel the heat of it on his cheeks. Next to him Washington was recounting some tales from Mount Vernon, with Knox laughing heartily. Every so often the group would catch themselves in their laughter, bringing it down to a shaking whisper as they tried not to disturb the soldiers sleeping around them. Lafayette wriggled happily beneath Washington’s cloak, trying his best to keep himself from spilling out to plant himself in the center of the circle where he could hear every story, and sip from every flask that passed overhead. Instead he remained in the warmth of the cloak, where Hamilton came to meet him. 

“I do not wish to pry, but I have heard things about your kind and I wish to make you an offering.” Hamilton whispered. Lafayette raised his eyebrow with intrigue, and he watched as Hamilton fished a few things from his pack; an extra canteen and clean strips of cloth. “Your feet hurt, do they not?”

Lafayette smiled, taking the materials from Hamilton. “More than you know. But how?” Hamilton shrugged and looked to the stars.

“I grew up hearing tales of mermaids. Mostly of their trickery, and how lucky we mortals were to be safe on land where they could not walk. Land was like an endless path broken glass. I wondered how you dealt with it...until Martha made a little comment to me about finding wet rags in your boots last winter.” He said, a small smile on his lips. “You’re a clever fish, I’ll give you that. But you’ll need your strength. Wrap your feet tonight.” 

Lafayette lifted the cloak to tend to his feet, letting Hamilton lean in curiously. He looked rather disappointed when all he saw was a pair of human feet, badly blistered, but quite ordinary.

“Not very interesting on land, I’m afraid. But the doctors say I’ve got fishbones in my legs.” Lafayette said. He poured some water out onto the cloth strips, making them thoroughly wet before wrapping them carefully around his tender feet. He hissed loudly, drawing the attention of Washington.

“Are you alright, dear boy?” Washington asked. He stared at Lafayette’s bandaged foot, his mind threading together the sight of wet cloth and the damp rags he had stumbled upon last winter. There was worry in his face. “Is it painful?”

“No! Well, yes. But nothing I have not learned to control.” Lafayette fumbled. He did not want to be placed at a desk, out of sight and out of use, simply because of his feet. “I do this simply to prolong my need for a river.” Still, Washington watched him with concern, turning only when he felt he had been rude for watching Lafayette attend to his bare, unstockinged leg.

Out in the distance the campfires burned on in the British camp. Lafayette could see them flicker in and out of existence, painting a dotted line across the far end of the ravine. He would be ready to cross it tomorrow and secure a victory. This one would be a win. 

“We should rest.” Washington said, slipping an arm around Lafayette’s waist. “If you plan to storm over there at sunrise.” Their conversation had fallen into a lull, and sleep was quick. Tallmadge lay passed out in the grass beside Hamilton, who was huddled beneath his jacket. Knox has also begun to snore whilst leaning up against the trunk of a tree. And here, beneath their own tree, Washington beckoned him to sleep as well. Lafayette lay back into the grass, curling close to Washington’s chest so that they both fit neatly under his cloak. Sleep took them both.

* * *

Shortly before dawn Washington rose, waking Lafayette from their sweet slumber. It had only been a short few hours but Lafayette felt as though his strength had returned tenfold. 

“I didn't mean to wake you. I just planned to ready my horse.” Washington whispered. Below them the camp had begun its crawl to life, the men lifting themselves out of the grass and collecting their belongings. They would need to attack soon, and many of them took swigs from their canteens, letting the sharp taste of whiskey wake them up. 

“I shall come with you.” 

Lafayette scrambled to his feet, picking up his boots in a hurry as he followed Washington. They headed down the hill towards the horses, stopping here and there to nudge a sleeping soldier. On bare feet the uneven ground caused Lafayette to stumble, first very lightly, and then more noticeably. Stray rocks stuck to his feet and twigs snagged his ankles, but Lafayette pushed forward. Washington slowed his pace, offering an arm as Lafayette tripped over his feet for a third time.

“Thank you, sir.” Lafayette said, clutching it tightly. “I am still a bit clumsy today.” His cheeks heated with embarrassment. Not only did he look stupid, he looked weak. And after last night he was sure Washington would look upon him with pity. Washington clapped a hand atop the one clutching his arm.

“Perhaps I have pushed you too hard, dear boy. I feel terribly ashamed that I was so ill informed of your kind and their maladies.” He said. It dropped like a ball of iron in Lafayette’s belly.

“I had not told you because I wish to fight, sir. I promise you I am as able bodied as any human man here.” He stood up straight and widened his strides to match Washington’s. “And until last night you had not suspected I was in any pain, had you?”

“Odd, perhaps. But no, not in pain.” Washington said, though he slowed his pace once more. The two came to a stop, and Washington turned to face him. In the rosy light of dawn his dark auburn hair soaked up pinks and golds, and Lafayette felt his heart flutter. “But you must promise me one thing.”

“Yes?” Lafayette breathed.

“Do not hide your pain from me anymore. I am at your service as much as you are in mine.” Washington said, placing his hands on Lafayette’s shoulders. Lafayette smiled widely. 

“I promise.”

Lafayette was so relieved that he did not take notice to Washington pulling close, perhaps for a warm embrace before parting for duty. But in a surprising turn of events, Washington had decided to indulge Lafayette in his affectionate habits, tilting to place a kiss on each cheek. Lafayette, however, misjudged the space between them, quickly turning to present the wrong cheek, feeling instead the drag of Washington’s lips across his right cheek until they landed squarely on his. On  _ his.  _ Lafayette froze, lips locked with Washington’s as both realized what had happened. Lafayette’s heart beat wildly, body melting as the kiss continued. Washington, however, gripped him tightly, frozen in place as if he did not know how to part. 

“General Washington!”

And just like that Washington was an arms length away, hand over his mouth as if pretending to rub the stubble on his chin. A young private ran towards them. 

“General Washington, the British troops are not to be seen!” 

Washington broke from his stupor, rushing towards the private. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, sir, they are gone! Retreated in the night!” 

Washington looked out across the field, seeing it just as the sun broke above the treeline. An empty field, dappled with the long white plumes of burned out fires. Not a redcoat to be seen. It seemed the British left the fires burning as a distraction, only to quietly flee under the cover of darkness. Lafayette felt the breath leave him as he looked out over the field.

“What do we do now?” He asked quietly. Beside him Washington stood tall, and as the light shifted into his eyes Lafayette could see tears.

“We call it a victory.” 

**Author's Note:**

> More washette mermaid au prompts, as well as other washette goodness can be found on my tumblr @grumblebee-trilogy. 
> 
> If you like what you see, please comment! Let me know you had fun!


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